


No Chains Could Keep Me From You

by TheDevilOnioah



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Wade Wilson, Alpha!Wade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Author is a slut for historical accuracy, Bottom Peter Parker, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, Francis "Fanny" Freeman, M/M, Master/Slave, Omega Peter Parker, POV Wade Wilson, Slave!Wade, Slavery, Spideypool Bingo 2019, Top Wade Wilson, at least I tried to, brief mention of noncon by evil dude, but again, but can't write accurate dialogue, but not totally normal omegaverse, damn that has its own tag?, fuck that dude, he's in here for one sentence but fuck him, it was normal slavery they just made it sexual, omega!Peter, they made it sexual, use of medieval terms, vague fourth wall break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDevilOnioah/pseuds/TheDevilOnioah
Summary: Wade doesn't remember when he wasn't a slave. He doesn't remember anything but pain and chains, until he's sold off. At his new prison he expects to be put under much of the same treatment that Francis dealt him. Instead, he meets a stern but nurturing old woman, a doughy hearted baker, and a whip-smart young alpha ready to defy the norms. And at the center of it all is an intriguing boy by the name of Peter. Wade doesn't know why, but something is preventing him from simply saying 'fuck it' and running away. Something inside of him wants desperately to find out more about Peter, and even worse, wants to protect him against everything.





	1. Chapter 1

Wade scowls and tugs at the band around his neck. It’s so thick he can perch his fingers along the rim of it, although he wouldn’t. Any pressure on the collar causes the spikes on the inside to prick his neck. Wade snorts.  _ Prick. _

Against his captors’ best efforts he’s remained unbroken. Chained, insane, and ugly as sin, but he still refuses to bow his head. At this point there’s nothing they can throw at him that will surprise him. When they lead him to the courtyard this morning and put him in the stocks; sure, why not? When they left him until he was gagging for water and unable to support his weight; been there, done that. And now, looking at the cage on wheels in front of him, he thinks that these accommodations are quite nice, actually. There’s a bench and a bucket, and plenty of natural light. The rear wall, right behind the horse, is solid though, so he can’t see the driver. Everyone’s got to compromise now and then. 

He gets in readily, accepting the yeasty ale and some cheese waiting for him on the seat. The cart starts up immediately, letting loose a stream of dust behind them. He waves cheerily to the warden just to see him reveal those perfectly white teeth in a snarl. 

So, the warden didn’t want to get rid of him. Or perhaps where Wade’s going isn’t where he was supposed to be. It doesn’t matter now. Wade is out, more free than he’s been in years. Which is pretty depressing now that he’s thinking about it. He decides to sing to cheer himself up.

* * *

The cart driver must be getting a boatload of money for this. He scoffed and didn’t respond to Wade’s chorus and comments for the first few hours, before finally running out of patience. He slams his fist against the backboard and growls in frustration. Which Wade responds to by making up some unfortunate songs about the man’s wife. 

When the sun begins to bleed out onto the cloudy sky, Wade is ready to go. Even  _ he _ is getting tired of his voice, and he has to pee  _ badly. _ The cart driver stops them a ways off from the main road in the middle of an open field. 

“Come on! Come on! Come on, come on, come on!” Wade bounces up in down, making the cart creak ominously and the horse stamp it’s hoof in irritation, “Pee break time! Let’s go, let’s go!”

The cart driver looks up at him from where he’s squatted, a match perched on his fingers and a match in between his teeth. The cowl shifts up and Wade can finally see the cart driver’s face.

“You got a cock, don’t you? Just piss out the bars. Or did Ajax take that from you, too?” she sneers.

She flicks the match in her hand against the strike board and sets the kindling aflame in one motion. Wade’s good mood is swiftly ruined. Angel was well trained by that fucker called Francis, or Ajax, whatever the fuck that meant. Sounded like some stupid snake oil potion. She would watch Wade burn before going anywhere near him with a set of keys. 

* * *

On the fifth day of travel Wade’s throat is rubbed raw and bleeding. He also smells like shit, literal shit. His shit, to be exact. Other than the initial meal he’d gotten an apple, two hard pears, and some more bread, but the lack of water was starting to take its toll. He’d been allowed a few measly sips on the third day, but there’d been no sign of full relief after that. 

Opening his eyes to a blurry sight, he tries to recognize the pale buildings with tall stone roofs, but nothing comes to mind. He’s travelled quite a bit in his time, but mostly to large cities with a developed underbelly where him and numerous other criminals could lay low. 

The people walking around here are disgustingly cheerful. Omegas are wearing long heavy dresses with tightly bound hair bonnets and alphas strut around with the swagger of someone who’s never fought. He snarls at one just to see his steps falter. 

Wade laughs as more people take notice of him. He twirls around and bites at the bars when a few betas curiously follow after. They gasp and run away the second he notices them, but stare after as if they cannot take their eyes off him.

“Ew, pumpkin, don’t look!” A mother covers a little boys eyes and turns them away.

Two gangly, young alphas snicker as the cart rolls past, “Can you imagine an omega being fucked by that thing?” The one with his foot propped up on a bench says.

The other makes a gagging noise, “I think they’d vomit over him before he could knot!”

Wade begins to pace as more comments fill his ears. He shakes his head to get them out. They’re aren’t that many people out, he tells himself. It’s fine, their words are nothing compared to Francis on a power trip. Angel knocks on the wall incessantly. He growls at her, but sits down against the wood anyway, hoping to hide his face in the shadow. 

To Wade’s immense frustration they have to slow even more as they reach the higher streets. Instead of plain cloth, the people are riding in their own carriages or horses, with decorated cloaks. Luckily, these higher ups make far less comments, but they stare unflinchingly even when he growls. 

“No manners,” Wade hisses out at a girl no older than thirteen who’s looking him up and down with the expression of someone watching a dog retch up its meal. 

Everyone begins to stink like perfume and flowers now and he wouldn’t be able to distinguish alpha from omega if their wardrobes weren’t so stereotypical. There’s no place for male omegas or female alphas in high society so they dress their women in dresses too big to run in and men in tight pants with broad shouldered jackets.

He’s trying to catch the scent of a bookshop down the street when the carthorse pulls forward into a canter. They’ve gotten past the thick of the crowd and Angel seems to want to move as much as Wade does. 

Only slowing down to turn once, the cart goes from the busy main road to a more quiet residential area. The houses turn into large, fenced in mansions with cleaner stone and decorated timber. For nearly twenty minutes they pass each giant lot at a quick pace. Wade is silent as he stares at live cattle and sheep for the first time in years.

_ “Puppy!” _ He cooes at each guard dog he sees, no matter how fiercely they bark back.

The cart is slowing, and his heart clenches once then begins to rapidly thump. He thinks he’s going to be sick. They stop in front of a long stone fence, too high to peer over with a heavy oak gate, which has been left open.

As they pass through, Wade notices the differences compared to all the other houses. Firstly, the house and fencing are not as well kept, there’s lichen and ivy creeping along most of the stone. The wealthier households have wooden houses with ornaments hanging from every archway, but not only is the main house smaller, it’s closer in appearance to the homes he had seen more than an hour ago. The first story is made of the same familiar stone while lumber makes up the second and third, although no ornaments or carvings decorate it’s face. 

The gate closes behind them, revealing two common folk who carefully avoid his eyes. Wade moves about in his cage to take in the many small huts dotted around the property, each one surrounded by rich, sprouting farmland. The gatekeepers dart off, quickly hiding among the cornstalks. 

It takes only a minute to reach the end of the gravel path, and now Wade is face to face with the entry to his new prison. 

_ Not for long, _ he thinks. He’s seen no other guards except the ones who ran, and the stacked stone fence can easily be climbed. He’ll be out of here by midnight if all goes well. 

Trotting down the pathway he sees plenty of overgrown fields and wild flora to hide in. Angel hops down the cart and goes to knock on the door. Almost immediately, the door swings open and a handsomely dressed man steps out. He smiles with blindingly white teeth and enthusiastically pumps Angel’s hand the second she reaches out.

“Right on time! Oh, I’m so excited to see- is that the man there?” He points to Wade as if there’s some other chained up criminal wandering around, and strides closer, “Oh, my! Oh my! Certainly more gruesome than I thought, but no matter!”

Wade growls, already willing to rip his throat out, “Not as bad as your pretty face when I’m done with you.”

The man laughs, flapping a hand in the general direction of the cage and reaches into his doublet with the other. A large pouch is pulled out, and gold exchanges hands right in front of him.

“The other half, as agreed. He’s as strong as you say? I want only the best for my soon-to-be!” the man peers up again, smiling when Wade flashes his teeth. 

Wade is about to snap back when there’s a commotion at the door and the man whirls around, nearly running into Angel, who’s carefully checking each coin. A middle aged woman with short, grey hair and sharp eyes stands on the porch. She looks over the situation carefully, then wraps the shawl around her shoulders tighter. 

“Harry… what’s going on here?” She scans over Wade, ignoring Harry’s spluttering, then turns to Angel, “Who are you, ma’am?”

“Ms. Parker, I-” Harry butts in.

“No one of import,  _ Ms. Parker. _ ” Angel smiles around the match in her mouth, “Just a delivery girl.”

Ms. Parker’s eyes narrow and then turn to Harry just as fiercely. Wade giggles when he jumps to attention.

“A gift! A gift for my- uh, Peter. I know how he misses going out, so I hired a bodyguard for him.” Harry looks quite pleased with himself as he smooths his embroidered partlet. 

“Pfft!” Wade clutches his gut as he bursts out laughing, “Oh yeah, yeah! Here I am, the hired help! I’m actually a scullery maid, but don’t tell them that,” he winks at Ms. Parker and swears he sees her lip twitch.

Harry looks like an overly ripe tomato, and Wade can see his jaw working in anger. Reading the mood, Angel quickly moves to the door of his cage and unlocks it, then the bolt on the floor, then the chain around his wrists. She keeps the hobble attached to his collar locked up and tosses the keys to Harry. 

“Good luck!” She calls as she slams the bar door closed.

“Thank you!” Wade answers back sweetly, “What a lovely young lady,” He says once the cart has been hidden under a cloud of dust.

The two of them look at Wade curiously, though he doesn’t like the gleam in the man’s eyes. The old woman whirls around and at once a gnarled, polished cane appears from her skirts and makes contact with Harry’s calves.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, young man? Have you given leave of your senses? Hm? Or perhaps you’d like me to send a note to you father telling him that his gracious prince has sent a slave to work for commoners?” She hisses like a goose, and looks ready to strike like one, the cane tapping the gravel beside her.

“Aunt- Aunt May!” The little prince cowers before her.

“ _ Don’t  _ you ‘Aunt May’  _ me! _ I have half a mind to walk you to the castle by your ear,” She pauses and glances over Wade, who straightens at her gaze, “Would that I could. Do you care to share with me how I’m supposed to care and feed for a large Alpha in this coming winter, hm?”

The man turned boy scuffs the ground with his custom made boots and mumbles, “I would pay for everything, of course.”

“Of course you would,” She says, no happier than before, “Leave us, Harry.”

He looks up sharply, and then to Wade, who is getting quite tired of being a mantlepiece to occasionally glance at.

“I cannot leave you here with that man!”

The woman’s chest puffs up and her cane shakes with a warning twitch. The prince drops his eyes at once and gives his goodbyes quickly while mounting a sleek palfrey tied to the porch. Wade and Aunt May watch him for a long time as he looks back at them every few feet until he’s out of the gate, which he must close on his own. 

“I’m surprised you stayed silent,” the woman doesn’t take her eyes off the fence line as she speaks.

Wade turns in his chains and grins wickedly, “Just enjoying the show. Now, who’s this Peter of yours?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote my freaking heart out on chapter three so I could get this to you guys sooner. It's been a bit hectic recently, but luckily writing is my escape. I hope this chapter doesn't have too many errors, but honestly its late, I did editing on it several days ago, and now I'm pooped. Thank you to everyone who commented on the first chapter. It means a lot to me and really helped motivated me to put this out as quick as I could! <3

She tosses the flimsy wooden door open, motioning Wade to enter into a small foyer that makes Wade wonder if he’s in an M.C Escher piece.  _ Shut up, it’s AU! _ There’s double doors to his left, a set of stairs that hug the corner wall right next to them, a small archway under the stairs is across from the front door, and a large archway to his left leading to a dining area. Almost immediately a pudgy, short boy, looking no older than twenty, stands from the table with wide eyes.

“Aunt May! Who… what’s going on?” his voice quivers.

Wade takes a deep whiff of him, smelling the flat scent of a beta and bread. Wade grins with all his teeth, “Well  _ hi there, friend! _ I’m here for the kitchen job? Heard you needed a baker's girl to knead the bread and lift her skirts. I’m not dress-”

“Yes, that’s enough. Ned, this is Wade. Don’t go near him. Are you done with breakfast? Good, I haven’t gotten to the chicken, yet. Out,” she snaps her fingers and Ned is off with his empty porridge bowl, disappearing into another doorway.

Wade tries to peer down the hall he vanishes from and sees a door to outside and brickwork, “It’s like a fucking maze in here!” Wade growls. When he turns around, May is gone.

“In here!” she barks, sounding several rooms away.

Wade walks back into the main room and goes through the door under the stairs. He’s faced with a dizzying intersection of halls. Pausing to turn in a circle, he can see the door Ned disappears through, but not the brickwork he’d glimpsed, or even a window. He starts heading down a wrong turn when he hears the three legged gait of May.  _ I could start walking right now…  _

It shouldn’t take much, at the very least he can turn right back around and go through the front door, running before anyone could catch him. He doubts that the measly looking gatekeepers would even try to stop him, but despite the tempting thought Wade is immeasurably curious about this disorienting house and its tenants. 

Following the sound of  _ tap tap tap _ he pushes a panel door open and walks into a wave of heat and yeast. There’s two other people who briefly glance up as they’re rolling out bowls of dough. May is peering into the oven, grumbling quietly about chicken.

“Ah, finally! Hurry up now, young man,” She says, straightening up the moment she sees him.

Wade pokes a hole into one of the worker’s dough as he passes the island, and gets no reaction. Frowning, he trudges a little further along until he sees a gray bowl the same color as his chains. He taps the side of it, enjoying the soft echo that reminds him of Francis hitting the bars of his cage every time he walked past. Wade gasps delightly when he spies lines of whipped cream at the bottom.

“Cake! Are you having cake? I can’t remember if I’ve ever had cake. One time this guy gave me a cookie that smelled funny and when I woke up I was alone, lone,  _ lone. _ ” he sings.

He swipes a finger through the leftover, making another path of wet gray along the sugary cream. He looks up with the finger in his mouth, waiting for the scolding or lashing or general discouragement, but May watches him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Our chef is quite skilled. Good, isn’t it? Come along now, I have to get you set up before midday.” May lifts her skirts as she begins to climb another set of stairs.

It’s a bit like being in a very tall closet as Wade squeezes into the stairwell. Each step cries out in agony, but make not a peep for May.

“I don’t think your house likes me,” Wade says when he’s past the rinky dinky stairs and in  _ another hallway, _ “Is this place some demented torture scheme? Is this a nightmare? Am I dead? That’d be cool, if this is what eternal torture is, just following some old lady across a never ending house.”

“I assure you this house has an end. It’s quite confusing only because it’s small,” May leads to the right and then past many, many doors. All of them are identical, and all of them are closed.

Luckily, this hall actually has windows and Wade can finally see the outside. They’re facing the backyard, although garden best describes it. In clumps, clusters and rows plants are flourishing or dying. Either way, several people are tending to them. Wade follows dutifully to more halls with less windows, even down a set of stairs, but all the while he’s thinking about the workers. All around him, he’s met people. 

The bakers didn’t look at him curiously nor did the gatekeepers even question their cart. Wade had taken it as negligence before, now he wonders if he would truly be uncontested on his way out. He rolls his head around, taking note of the dust. The woman must be taking him to some leftover cell, or perhaps just a storage shed. She unlocks a heavy door, different from all the other in its carved design, and motions him in before her.

He walks in expecting chains, bars, maybe a torture table, those are always fun, instead there’s piles of furniture gathering cobwebs. A single window on the back wall let’s in the noon sun, but it’s too small for him to fit his arm through. Everything else is covered in muslin.

Wade scrunches up his face, “This is where you’re keeping me?”

May approaches suddenly, startling Wade into a rocking chair. She holds up her ring of keys keeping eye contact with him as she removes two of them. Wade remembers that glint in her eye when she held her smile at his antics and sees it again. 

“I don’t believe the Yates’s are going to be at their house today. They have to work at the west field, opposite of where they sit on the hill.” Wade raises his brows, shaking his chains at her, “It’s a shame Harry took the keys with him. Maybe tonight I’ll have MJ get some tools from the work shed to remove them. Yes, that should work…”

She begins to walk out of the room before Wade can even process what exactly is happening. Turning at the last moment she whispers, “Don’t lose my damn keys.” Then she’s slamming the door.

The dust swirls around in the draft, visible through the shaft of light pouring in from the high window. Wade watches it dance, thinking of a cold cell with wooden walls and water seeping through the cracks. Dust had danced there, too, until the humidity clung to it, dragged it down, and Wade couldn’t breathe for hours. He doesn’t know what a normal house looks like now. If he did at one point, he does no longer. It’s hard to imagine anything more than four walls and filth. The room isn’t comfortable, but it’s safe, and that’s all Wade has ever needed.

He grips his chains, twisting them around in his palms to feel the bite of metal. Tonight, he’s going to be free. He’ll wait until the cover of darkness, then take the keys May gave him, run outside away from the main house, find the shed, and climb the fence on the west side of the property. It stunk like a trap, but Wade had run through trap after trap at the compound as well. He couldn’t doubt himself, not for a second. It’s better to take the chance than have an opportunity so sweet pass him by. And who’s to say that Wade wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of a trap, anyway. He would be free tonight, no matter what it took.

There’s a nice cozy corner without much dirt and when he lays down a sheet and curls up into a ball, it’s almost comfortable. He figures a few hours of sleep won’t hurt him. Even if these people don’t want to hunt him down he’s still going to have to stay ahead of any bounty hunter, nevermind that snobby little prince, Angel, and Francis.

Tossing and turning, he thinks more about the old lady with her cane, the baker boy, the gatekeepers who didn’t keep, and the rows of farmland, occupied but untended. Something teases his thoughts relentlessly as he tries to rest.  _ Rows and rows of farmland, _ he thinks,  _ A huge house that’s small. _ He’s staring at a cobweb when the understanding starts to trickle in. All throughout the land there’s space abound with sturdy houses and garden land, yet there’s no one cutting back the growth or repairing the buildings. Auntie May had even referred to the household as commoners. At one point this family was prosperous, but now it’s withering away. An irrational fury overtakes Wade when he realizes that spoiled brat had dumped him on this poverty stricken doorstep like an ugly orphan.

He growls into his corner, lashing out at the sheet wrapped around him. There might be a possibility of sleep if he didn’t then start to wonder who this mysterious Peter is. He’s a somebody who belongs to the rich boy, according to him, and somebody who must be cared for by Auntie, but he never once peeked out of hiding during the ruckus of Wade’s arrival.

Nothing here makes complete sense, and Wade feels as if he’s back in the hallways, turning in circles to find his way out. There’s suddenly a hole in his chest. The solitude aches deeply and he doesn’t even have the comfort of making japes at a guard. He tries to make little noises and songs under his breath, but its useless. The sky’s too bright and his thoughts are too loud for sleep. Nor can he risk leaving his room without knowing the consequences. Everything is so different here. He’s scared. 

Wade curls up, fighting back the pain in his chest that hurts worse than his skin, and closes his eyes against the sun.

Shadows wake him. Lifting his head, he can see pink sky through the window. It’s much cooler in the room which soothes his wounds some. Wade stands and brushes himself off before cracking his neck. Nothing in the room has changed and when he peeks out the door, there’s not a soul around. 

He clicks his teeth together in frustration, wanting something to speak to, but unable to risk it. Swiping the keys Auntie had left him, he begins the journey through the old, creaky manor. Back up the stairs and down the hallway of doors is easy enough, but then the hallway ends and goes to the right and left instead of meeting the tiny set of stairs. He decides a quick curse is worth it as he looks down both ways. 

Left seems just as good as any direction so he goes that way first, but is quickly met with a sitting room that connects to a water closet. To the right it is. Now at the end of  _ that  _ hallway he’s faced with two set of stairs that both go up but one hooks to the side and the other leads to the attic. Wade wants to scream. 

Up the only stairs left there’s a balcony on the roof. From here Wade can see that he’s three stories up and on the same end he started on. It seems like another dead end until Wade spots a door on the other side of the bridge. It didn’t technically lead him closer to outside but at this point he’s more curious about what he can find than an exit.

He jogs over, trying to ignore the rattling of chains, when a glint of light blinds him. The sun has just begun to settle into the rolling hills and it’s turning the sky a wash of pinks and oranges that Wade has never seen. He steps up to the balcony, gripping the rail as his eyes shine over. He’s staring directly at it, yet can’t seem to take his eyes off all the colors. The pigments are so different from the pictures that occasionally adorned head offices in his old prison. Wade had never paid much attention to them because they were dull and cast in a sickly yellow light.  _ How could anyone possibly paint this? _ It doesn’t appear like any mortal man could ever get close to replicating this sight. How would you paint in the waves of red across the sun, or the way pink and purple became one color together?

Wade watches until the last dregs of warmth are pulled from the earth and waits even longer until he’s shivering on the roof. At least he steps away, and a clinking noise makes him peer down. His chains aren’t shiny grey like the icing bowl anymore. Without any light they might as well blend into Wade’s skin.  _ Like wearing shoes, _ he tells himself. He wants to rip them off with his bare hands. Which reminds him.

He has to find his way to the storage shed, which must be somewhere on the ground. In the middle of debating whether he’d survive climbing down the front of the house, he barely notices a wispy stream of light coming from the door. What makes him look up is the reflections on his manacles.

There in the flickering candlelight, a boy, likely no older than the baker, stands just inside the doorway, looking at Wade with round eyes and sleep mussed chocolate hair. The winds kicks up again. The boy instinctively moves to cover the candle flame, casting his soft face in shadows, and the smell of an omega drifts across to Wade. 


	3. Chapter 3

Peter is… an anomaly, Wade decides. He’s watching Peter go at the vegetables like they’ve done him some personal wrong, but the man’s not ham-fisted about it, either. Each slice of his knife cuts a new row of diced herbs and greens that are of equal size to the last. And then, of course, there’s the way he looks at Wade. He  _ keeps  _ looking at Wade. Every so often, just a glance behind his shoulder to meet Wade’s eyes and then he blushes pink, the kind of blush that Wade can see on his ears and back of his neck.

Some sly voice urges Wade to make Peter blush some more. Make him drop the knife or to just see a row get messed up. But he only continues to stare at Peter’s back, his ass, and sometimes his eyes.

Last night Wade had been sure he was about to get stabbed. Peter dropped his candle the second Wade shifted toward him. Expected, considering that Wade is a torn up, chained up, rough-spun tunic wearing man standing at Peter’s bedroom door. What he hadn’t expected was a knife. One that Wade could now see is not wielded clumsily by its owner. And yes, it is the same knife Peter’s using now. Wade had asked. 

That’s the only time he opened his mouth this morning, except to spoon in some more delicious, cinnamon spiced porridge. May had not been kidding about the cook. It would be a lot more fun if he was talking, sure, but the aim of the game is to wait for either of them to break. 

Wade had asked one question, Peter had answered one, and then they both had descended into silence. An awkward one, Peter probably thought, but Wade didn’t mind. He could be silent if it meant the silence is more annoying than chatter. Wade is willing to bet that Peter is going to break any second Then again, the little man is considerably more stubborn than he anticipated. Almost an hour has gone past and Peter keeps glancing over, meeting his eyes, and then doing his adorable little blushing thing. 

It’s obvious he wants to talk. Wade can see his throat move as he silently plays something out or gets ready to speak, but he always clicks his mouth shut before the words come and Wade goes back to watching. 

Truthfully, the mutual silence is comforting to Wade. 

He shifts his feet under the table to once again revel in how light they are. It was a long journey to the shed, but when the weight had slide from his hands, Wade was lightheaded from euphoria. In a blissful mood, he had run outside and started his escape at a dead sprint. His body ached as he stretched past years of limits, and Wade wanted to scream with joy. He laughed as quietly as he could, instead.

It was when he’d reached the hut with no windows and a hill along the fence behind it that Wade’s joy had swiftly fled. It was so unfair, that after years of torture waiting for this moment of freedom, Wade was held back. By nothing that he could see, and he certainly tried to claw at his body to get rid of the lingering curiosity, but it’s an insatiable feeling. He grits his teeth in indignation, even now. It was Peter that had held him back, he knows it. 

If the omega had screamed and run for cover at the sight of him he wouldn’t be having this problem. Instead, Peter had demanded a name, and when Wade not only introduced himself but managed to convince Peter of his story, he’d been freed with directions to the shed. 

He’d looked ready to castrate Wade up until the mention of Harry. Wade had recited the prince’s words with perhaps a tad bit of exaggeration. Peter had flushed red with anger, his mouth set in a hard line that was all too similar to Auntie’s, and Wade had thought he had royally screwed up. Peter had scowled and slapped the flat of the knife on his palm, moving to the edge of the roof, right next to Wade. He was certain he could beat the little omega in a fight if it came down to it,  _ is certain _ , until the sound of the knife and the angry strut had Wade and Wade junior jerking upright. Still, it wasn’t until Peter was staring at the gravel road and spat out  _ Typical of him! _ That Wade realized it wasn’t Wade that had angered Peter. That’s when Wade had found himself memorizing a code of rights and lefts that would lead him to the shed and on to freedom. 

Only it hadn’t. Wade is currently in the kitchen with Peter, trying to get him to talk by not talking, which is the stupidest thing ever. He lowers his eyes as he scrapes the last of the porridge from the bowl, irritated at his own dumb mind. He stands to set the bowl in the cleaning bin and comes a few inches shy of running into Peter. Peter, who is staring at him and finally opening his mouth to talk when the back door opens noisily and Auntie May walks in with a  _ click click clunk _ . 

“My God! If you’re going to stay here do us the decency of smelling better than the pig pen!” She frowns at Wade, waving a hand in front of her nose.

“Aunt May!” Peter is shrill with appall. Wade wants to make him beg in that high, scandalized voice.

He has to shake his head vigorously to get rid of the voice playing out in a loop, stopping the two from their argument. “It’s alright,” Wade assures Peter, “I know I smell like shit since I’m the one who slept in it.”

Peter’s nose wrinkles as if he’s suddenly caught the stench.

Aunt May grabs the bowl from Wade’s hands and begins dishing out orders, “Peter, get this man a good bath.The tent, if you will. Use the  _ old  _ towels and throw them away afterwards. Ned? Where’s that boy? Ned! Get the spare buckets and bring them to the baths!”

Despite May’s urgency, Peter takes his time finishing up his chopping, and when he’s done, begins to clean his knife. Trying not to stand too close to anyone, Wade waits near the open backdoor, eyes glued to Peter’s hands. Long, pale fingers scrub the blade clean, giving it a lick of a pocket whetstone and honing steel. His movements are smooth even as he bravely ignores his aunt’s attempts to rush him.

“A sharpened knife is a safe knife,” Wade chimes in cheerily, smiling helpfully. He gets an odd look from Peter, but no one else reacts. He must’ve gotten too comfortable with how reactive Francis-fuckface-mcgee was, because the silence feels a little insulting.

When Peter is lacing up a pair of high boots he looks to Wade’s own bare feet. “You don’t want shoes?” he asks softly.

“I’d want some if I had some, but since I don’t, there’s not any need.” he says, stepping out onto the sun heated stones. Peter rushes to catch up.

“But! Wait a moment, please!” He’s having to jog to match Wade’s strides, and while that was originally Wade’s intent, he feels bad taking his mood out on the one person who’s shown him genuine care. “But you do have some! I mean, if you want them, that is. We have spare boots that we could lend you, and if those don’t fit, then I’m sure Aunt May will ask the cobbler.”

The sunlight is blinding. With the only shade on the property being small fruit trees, Wade feels like he’s already sweating heavily. He’s already starting to itch under the heat and it’s making his skin a bright, irritated red. He squirms under Peter’s scrutiny, who is leading Wade down a thin dirt path. He knows he smells horrible and he must have smelled just as bad last night. Peter must’ve been holding his nose on the balcony where they talked. 

Since he has no self-control, Wade no longer holds in his urge to ask, “Why did you help me?” The simple questions suddenly opens a flood gate that he had reluctantly barred since coming here. “I must have startled you something fierce when you saw me standing there. So why didn’t you run, or close the door? In chains and rags, I’m certain I looked like an escaped criminal… I am an escaped criminal, you know.”

Peter doesn’t respond immediately, but he cocks his head and searches the sky in a way that Wade can tell he’s thinking his answer through. Once again, against all odds, Wade decides to go with patience. It isn’t until they reach a fork in the path in which Peter directs him to the left, away from the peasant homes, that he answers.

“My aunt, she always chastises me for running into trouble. I’m sure you already know, but I’m an omega. A omega  _ man. _ ”

“Are you? I had no idea! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Wade mocks, aghast.

It gets a giggle from Peter, and he relaxes a bit more as he continues, “Well, I tell her every time that trouble comes to me. I guess it must be how I smell because I can hardly leave the house these days without getting harassed. I suppose- well, it’s quite stupid now that I think about it…” He slows down as they near an area with tall fencing and white tents outside.

“No, no! I would like to know. Please, I’m the one who asked, didn’t I?” It must be some alpha hormones making Wade crazy because he couldn’t stop obsessing over how quickly Peter becomes anxious.

“Um, okay. I-I suppose my reasoning was that, if I could handle myself calmly in a bad situation Aunt May would be more inclined to let me go out on my own. I know! I know it’s stupid and I shouldn’t have opened my door in the first place!”

“You were going to kill me to prove that you could uphold your family’s honor?” Wade stands a little taller.

“No! Gods, no! I would never!”

“That’s fucking inspiring. I only killed for money, so you’d be doing better than me.” Wade grins.

Peter stops in his tracks just as they pass the gap of fencing, “Wha- sorry?”

“I did tell you I’m an escaped criminal,” he turns back around to wink before checking the perimeter.

Out of all the buildings he’s seen on their land, the bathhouse is the most luxurious, and most alike to the style of houses he’d seen on the way into town. The circular fence is made of tightly packed cut saplings that not even Wade would be able to grasp the top of, and the cabin next to the entrance is small, but well built. White, thick linens form peaked tents, each with a wooden tub inside. The idea of bathing in the open has Wade’s stomach curling.

“This way,” Peter says, standing on the steps of the cabin. Wind whistles through the opening in the fence and his hair is suddenly tossed up in a wild mess. 

Wade reaches up to smooth the hair before he can stop himself. Before his fingers can get within inches Peter jerks his head down.

“Sorry!” Peter blurts out frantically, “I didn’t know what you were doing! I’m sorry!”

The urgency in his voice is more startling than the flinch. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have touched you without saying anything.”

The previous affinity he’d thought they’d shared is wiped away in a second. 

Wade opens up the cabin door to a dark, warm room with a single copper tub in the middle. It’s half filled with water, which is cool when he runs his hand through it. The porch the cabin sits on has been cut out under the tub so that a stone firepit can sit comfortably under it. Wade is sure he’ll feel like a particularly nasty carrot in a stew when he sits down.  _ If I’m allowed to use this one at all. _

Peter is climbing up a ladder to a loft above when he calls out, “Can you catch these as I throw them down, please?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.”

He grabs ten towels as their tossed down to him, feeling worse with each one. Peter seems unaffected by any of their earlier conversation. He’s doing a job, and a dirty one at that. There’s no reason for him to become interested in Wade the same way Wade is interested in Peter. It’s useless in the first place to build a relationship with anyone here. Once he’s well fed and bathed, he’ll climb the stone wall and be out of here.

Still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with a mound of towels in his hands, he watches Peter stoop down on the floor to add and rearrange the firewood under the tub.

“I’m bathing here?” Wade asks, trying to contain his relief.

Peter waits until the fire is going to answer. “Yes, I wouldn’t leave you to bathe in the heat. You’re already having a hard time with it. I’ll make sure the water isn’t too hot but I need to fill it up from outside. Do you mind helping me?”

“Not a problem.” Wade stretches and follows him outside. 

The labour isn’t all that intensive and honestly, the shit he had been through at the compound was far more difficult than this. It’s kind of nice to do a job without struggling. What surprises him is Peter’s own strength. He’d wrongfully assumed that Peter had needed the help, but it seems he’d only wanted to be more efficient. When they reach the water spout outside, Peter not only works the pump nonstop while Wade switches out the buckets, but he also hauls four at a time into the cabin. Maybe he’d watched Peter’s arms as they worked the pump a little too intently but Peter seemed determined to do it by himself. And maybe Wade carried in six buckets at a time but it was purely due to him becoming impatient with the process.

The bath is finally heated at the right temperature, the towels are stacked up on the floor, and the fire has been reduced to embers. Peter is outside as Wade undresses. There’s no one in the cabin besides him, he knows that, but the whispers in his head are getting louder in the silence. Each one sounds like a person in hiding, mocking him from behind the door or up in the loft. 

Hefting his leg over the lip of the tub, he sinks in slowly. He can’t help the sigh of blessed relief when he’s fully seated. Peter was right about the temperature, any hotter and it would’ve been uncomfortable rather than relaxing. He wiggles until he submerged up to his shoulders, leaning his head back gently on the flat edge. The water around him has already darkened but he doesn’t want to think about having to get out and change the water so he rests his eyes for another minute. 

There’s a small thump from outside, likely Peter outside. Wade lifts his nose and breathes deeply through the steam, catching just a hint of Peter’s smell which is sweet and sharp at the same time. The smell of an omega unwedded and unbedded. 

“Fuck…” his cock is starting to respond, the scent made even stronger with humidity.

Lifting from the water, he carefully makes his way out, flicking water off his knotted skin with a flat palm. He’s facing away from the door when there’s a creak from outside then a breeze hits Wade’s wet legs, making him shiver. 

He turns around to see Peter standing in the doorway, two more buckets in hand, and at the same time, Peter looks down to see his half-hard cock dripping water onto the bare wooden floors. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Um… um,” Peter stutters out.

With both hands occupied, Peter is unable to do anything more than avert his eyes from the mess that is his skin.

Wade feels hotter than when he was in the bath and quickly grabs a towel from the stack behind him to cover up. Then, he realizes that his backside is completely exposed as he bends down and quickly straightens up.

Standing straight as a rod and harder than one , Wade stays still as Peter comes in through the door while he’s stuck standing naked facing the wall. It’s distressingly similar to how Francis would make him line up against a wall and  _ shut up. _

“Don’t you have any manners to knock?” Wade growls out, louder than he was intending, “Or are you just so privileged that you think it’s your right to invade someone’s privacy?”

He can hear him put the full buckets down. “My eyes are closed now,” he says. Wade peeks back to confirm before snatching up two towels and covering as much of his body as possible. There’s not a sound from Peter who’s red as a tomato as he covers his eyes with a hand.

Furrowing his brow, Wade hunches down on a bench before telling him, “I’m clothed, I guess.”

Immediately, Peter gasps out, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you I was coming back… or knocked. I didn’t think you’d already be out of the bath without my help.”

“Without your help?” Wade scoffs, “You can’t trust me to bathe myself is what you’re trying to say.” He pulls the towel around his shoulders tighter. He couldn’t really blame him now that he thinks about it. It’s odd that they’d even think to leave their precious omega with an alpha like Wade.

“Goodness, no!” Peter exclaims in that high, scandalized tone, “I wouldn’t presume! I wouldn’t even think to! Gods, is that what you think of me?” he suddenly ducks his head with a worried expression.

Wade is struck speechless. There’s no reason why this man would do something so intimate as help him bathe. Did he just have no awareness at all?

“Surely you’re joking with me. I know I’m not easy to look at so there’s no point in you staying with me unless you simply get some humour out of laughing at me.”

Peter looks around as if expecting someone to pop out of the shadows, “Laughing at you? I don’t quite understand. Perhaps it’s a cultural difference?” he says a little quieter, “Wade, it is very common where I live to have a bathmaid help wash and tend to someone. However… we’re not, well, we don’t have the money for such a thing. So, we often tend to each other. If I make you uncomfortable, I can leave or ask someone else to help.”

He’s meeting Wade’s eyes unflinchingly with only determination. It’s just as scary as the night on the roof.

Standing from the bench, Wade crosses over to Peter, his feet thumping loudly on the floor. “Tell me, do I scare you?”

Peter frowns in confusion but quickly answers, “No, not particularly so.”

“I could kill you easily.”

“Well that’s quite rude!”

He can’t help it, Wade busts out laughing. The indignant expression on Peter’s face clears up, and he even lets out a small giggle under Wade’s hearty laugh.

“You’re sure you’re fine with this?” he asks when he’s calm again, but still unable to control his smile.

“I would not have taken you here unless I was,” Peter assures. He notices Wade’s hesitation when he looks back to the tub. “I’ll not look until you’re in the water.”

Wade nods gratefully, dropping the towels unto the floor when Peter’s back is turned and quickly hopping back into the muddied water. The second Wade tells him he’s decent, Peter rushes in. He scoops out the bath water by the bucketful and sets it next to the door. The freshly drawn water is dumped in slowly. Although a touch colder, the water heats quickly as Peter swirls it around. Wade was right, he feels like a misshapen potato being boiled in broth.

When Peter has removed and replaced about half the water he asks, “The fire, is it too hot? Too cold?”

It could be warmer now that that the new water has been added, but he figures it’s close enough to comfortable. “It’s fine as is.” 

Peter nods but uses a bellows on the embers anyway. Coming to stand behind Wade, he asks hesitantly, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Damn his cock and damn his knot. “Yes, but I can wash myself, you know.”

Oddly, Peter only chuckles and dips a bar of soap in the water. He scrubs his own hands first then takes a flannel to the bar and soaks it in suds. When Peter finally touches him, although a light touch under a layer of cloth, it sends a jolt through Wade all the same.

“Sorry, I-”

“No, no, that was my fault.”

They fall into silence as Peter washes his upper back.

For a long while, it’s only the sound of Peter scrubbing at his skin or changing out the water. Peter asks him once to lean forward and when Wade does so, he works his lower back as well. His tiny, strong fingers grip Wade by the spine and slide down. It only takes a few strokes before Wade is letting out a moan unabidden. 

He blushes and scowls at the same time, tensing up immediately and moving away, “I didn’t mean to do that.” 

He refuses to look Peter in the eye, until he hears the soft breathy tone in which Peter says, “It’s quite all right. There’s nothing wrong with feeling pleasure like that. Um, from- from the touch. I mean! Massage? Hmm,” he trails off with burning cheeks.

“You’re right,” Wade settles down in his position, “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Despite his words, the touch, the heat, the utter comfort of being taken care of feels obscene. He needs something to distract him because the water is becoming more clear with each change.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to afford a bathmaid?” He wants to hit himself.  _ Amazing, perfect, the fucking show stopping pick-up line courtesy of Wade Wilson. Hey, baby boy, why is your family in poverty? Maybe I could pay your dowry!  _

“Our family has never belonged here,” Peter says, instead of getting up in arms, “We’re aren’t from a rich bloodline, and no one has been particularly successful. Expect, my parents were, but I suppose they weren’t all that successful since they died before making much money.”

“Has your Aunt taken care of you your whole life?”

“Mostly? I was only a few years young when my parents left me to their care, so she’s the only mother I remember.”

Wade reaches back and grabs his wrist, “Wait. They left you? Or they died?” A parent giving up their child is far different from a parent dropping dead unexpectedly. He had to know who to give his sympathy to, and who to despise. 

Peter lifts his brows looking down at his captured hand as if fascinated by his position. “They were forced to leave me to my aunt. Their work took them to dangerous people and places. I suppose many would blame my mother for not being a proper omega…” He scoffs, “You know, take care of the home, the children, the cooking, the sewing!”

With each word, he gets louder, his face twisting into a grimace. When he meets Wade’s eyes, there’s a defiant glare for a split second before the wind drops out of his sails. He droops down, reclaiming his arm and curling it into his lap.

Wade swirls his fingers through the clean water, finding himself at a loss for words, yet wanting desperately to comfort Peter.

“I don’t know what that feels like,” he finally says, keeping his gaze on the bottom of the tub, “But I know what it means to be powerless, to be stripped of dignity. I’ve been there, at the bottom of the world looking up at everyone around me, and every single person left me in the dust. I never want to feel that way again. I don’t care if I have to claw my way out. I’d rather die than live that way again.”

There’s a whistle of air and a sniffle. Wade turns quickly in the water, bug eyed as he sees Peter crying on the floor.

“I- shit! Are you okay?” Wade nearly upends the tub as he leans over the side to pull Peter closer. His efforts get him a strong whiff of Peter’s heady scent along with an armful of omega.

“Don’t apologize! I’m not-” he hiccups some, drawing in quick breathes, “It’s my fault for crying, anyway. I just… I don’t have anywhere else to go!” he cries out, “There’s only one place for a disobedient omega and that’s the whorehouses. I don’t think… I don’t think May would ever be able to handle it.”

With a sigh, Wade lifts Peter up with him so he’s not so close to the still smoldering fire. There is incredible guilt sitting in his chest, regardless of whether he blames him or not, he made Peter cry. He soaks the end of a towel to wash up Peter’s face as gently as he can. Having clearly blundered his way through every social interaction since he’s been here, Wade doesn’t want to give false words of comfort. Any advice he has revolves around the general idea of killing the person responsible or hiring him to kill the person responsible. Currently, the one who he’d encourage vengeance on is himself since he’s not quite sure how to disembowel the patriarchal victim blaming societal schematics that plague anyone not fortunate enough to be born into a one percent chance. Well, he has some ideas.

“It’s probably where I would’ve been, anyway,” Peter says numbly from his side. He lifts his eyes from the water to see Wade’s questioning look. “I told you, my family isn’t rich. We came on this land as a gift. A poorly executed one, but a gift we couldn’t refuse all the same.”

“A military honor?” Wade guesses, since it’s not uncommon for high ranking soldiers to earn little plots of land. Perhaps Peter’s mystery Uncle was once Wade’s battalion commander.

“Hah, no. Nothing of the sort.” He takes the towel from Wade’s clenched fists as he thinks, “You met Harry Osborn. The one we talked about on the roof. He’s the son of the most powerful man in our region and so it’s impossible to refuse anything from him. Everyone tells us that it’s an honor that the gracious prince takes the time to even look at our family. And they’re right, I suppose, but Harry has never cared about my family. He only wants me and can’t handle the fact that I don’t want him.”

The bath was becoming chilly now. It also felt a bit odd to be having such a conversation while sitting naked in this tub. Wade motions Peter for a towel silently, who gives it to him and then turns away patiently. He still feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin, but a combination of the dark room, the relaxing bath, and Peter being a decent human being let him keep the towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Has he ever forced himself on you?” Wade asks calmly, because it’s always good to cover the basics of a target.

Peter joins him on the bench, “Not quite so. He has certainly made lewd propositions to me but, when I was younger, I was told it’s the heat of puberty and, when I got older, I was told that I didn’t deserve the attention. Harry learned quickly from his father to keep his private activities under the covers.”

“That’s not innocence.”

“No, it’s not.”

“...You don’t believe that you deserve it, do you? You shouldn’t believe what they tell you.”

Peter strokes his thumb over his knuckles for a minute. “Sometimes it feels like I’m going insane, Wade,” he whispers, “I don’t believe it, truly. Yet there are times in the public when I hear these things, and I feel immense shame for the things I never did and never wanted to do. When I go home, the shame is replaced by anger. Even though I know that I never believed a word, it eats away at me every time I go out all the same.”

In a sudden strike of boldness, Wade takes Peter’s hand. The actions stirs them both from their defeated positions, and Wade is able to clearly see the steel in his eyes.

“I wish I could be like you Wade.”

“No, you don’t,” he quickly interrupts.

“But I do! I want to feel anger and not shame. I want to fight with everything in me. I want to know that my feelings are right even in darkness.”

Wade worries the inside of Peter’s wrist, already forgetting that he’s stroking an unclaimed omega in favor of soothing Peter.

“You don’t need to be like me at all, Peter. You’re perfectly strong on your own, just untrained. I’m… I’m going to leave soon, but I have faith that you have plenty of strength in you.”

It occurs to Wade then that they are far too close. Their breathes are mingling in the warm air, and Peter’s scent is still fresh in his nose. He’s not sure when they managed to close the gap, but Peter is practically on his lap by the time their reddened faces are inches apart. It’s considered an obscene intimacy to be anywhere near a lone omega. Any of the Osborn’s high society friends would assume they were participating in illicit activities. It wouldn’t matter if either of them were married, or if Wade had taken advantage. In the court’s eyes, Peter would be shunned for eternity.

It’s that thought that lets Wade back away and retract his hand. Peter would always be stuck on the other side of the river. Neither of their lives would be pretty but at the very least Peter would have a better chance of living a normal life the second Wade was over that stone fence.

Which is why he’s stunned when he feels the press of lips against his.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter’s lips feel like silk compared to Wade’s. He gasps around them in shock but finds himself moving to capture them without thought. They part after only a single press of their mouths together, but it’s charged all the same. None of this is allowed. 

He wouldn’t even be allowed near Peter in a normal household, never mind left alone with him. Because if an omega is left alone with a feral alpha like him then something like this will happen. It’s only a kiss but in a few seconds their hormones will drive them wild, sending them into fits of frenzied lust. Any second now, Wade will feel an insurmountable part of his nature rise up and take advantage. Any moment…  _ I’ll end the rest of his innocence. _

Plenty of dirty thoughts come to mind on all he could do to the boy in front of him, but for an incurable rut he sure is feeling like a starstruck teenager right now. Looking up through his lashes at Wade, Peter bat his eyes as they both do nothing except blush at each other. 

“Was that… alright?” Peter tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.

Wade nods, the word ‘Peter’ rattling around in his head as he does. “YesImfinecanwedoitagain?”

Turning bright red, Peter bites his smile and angles his head up. His eyes dart around in anticipation before finally closing. Wade leans in, reaching out to capture Peter’s hand, sucking on his bottom lip delicately before releasing it reluctantly. 

They spend far too much time that way. Huddled together on the bench, Peter and Wade take turns leaving kisses several more times. No rut or heat comes to sweep them off their feet but Wade feels intoxicated all the same. It’s been decades since he’s been intimate in any degree, and indefinite torture puts a damper on any one man shows.

“I’ve never done this before,” Peter says shyly into his neck when they’re both out of breath to share, “I thought I would have to wait until my bonding to kiss.”

There’s excitement in his voice so Wade tries not to get irrationally worried about some misplaced sense of virginity.

“They don’t let you out much, do they?”

Peter glares up at him fiercely, “I’m too much for them to handle.”

Wade laughs boisterously, shaking the omega in his arms. He takes the excuse to wrap himself tighter.

“Aunt May wishes she could let me out more, though. She doesn’t want to sell me, but it’s not as if she has a choice.”

“What about your choice?” Wade insists as he hears Peter’s hard indifference begin to melt.

Peter looks up at him for minute, chin still raised even though his eyes are sad. He pushes against Wade’s arms and stands from the bench. He seems to peer around the room like he’s searching for something then turns back to Wade.

“I choose to fight them every step of the way. But… but I’m not very good at it. I mean, I give a lot of warnings, but no one takes them seriously. If someone actually tried to fight me I’m sure I’d fail. There’s been a few close times, but I’ve always been saved.”

“A few close times? Peter, tell me who hurt you.” he can’t stop the low growl from shaking his words.

Peter only laughs at the display, “Easy there,  _ alpha. _ You don’t want to scare this poor, innocent omega off, do you?”

A shiver runs through him. The words are embarrassingly cliche, even mocking, but Wade has either lowered his standards or gone full-blown lovesick. He’s sure if anyone else called him alpha he would cringe, and also ask who’s paying them. From Peter it sounds tangibly sweet.

Wade stays sitting due to some unexpected conditions in his nether regions but lifts himself as much as he can. “You’re far from weak, but that doesn’t mean you should be left to handle harassment on your own.”

Peter is glancing around again, his eyes running and returning to Wade’s every few seconds. Wetting his lips in a nervous gesture that Wade recognizes from this morning, Peter gathers a breath before asking, “Do you think that I could be trained? To be strong, like you? I… I know that words will only get me so far. I want to know what it feels like to be in power! Physically. I could even pay you to help me.”

_ I can give him all the power he needs. All it would take is some time on my knees.  _ He shakes his head quickly to both get rid of the thought and the emerging image in his head. Peter, however, takes the motion the wrong way.

“Ah,” he slumps over, “I understand. It’s not like you asked to be here.” He starts for the door, no longer meeting Wade’s stare at all.

“Peter! I wasn’t saying no! I just… are you sure you want me of all people to teach you?” 

Peter lights up just as he open the door, his outline becoming awash with a bright halo. His smile gives Wade an odd fuzzy feeling in his stomach.  _ Indigestion maybe.  _ Wade scrapes at the back of his head as his hands fidget with the need for a distraction.

“Truly, Wade? You’ll be giving me something I could only dream of. Will you meet me today then? Or do you need another day? I can wait!” His grin stops him for second, “This is incredible! I’ll be able to do things on my own thanks to you!”

He’s trying really hard not to puff up like a strutting peacock now, but it’s hard to ignore how big Peter makes him feel. He’s on top of the world right now and he hasn’t even killed anyone. 

“We can start today, if you’d like. Later, only because the heat will be difficult to work in. And… Peter?” he blushes at Peter’s adoring gaze despite his mental preparation, “You’ll do great. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?” It comes out more like a question, unsure about suddenly being a source of comfort.

Ducking his head down, Peter seems shy again but his pleased grin is hard to ignore. Neither is the heated look he sends Wade. And now is the perfect time for them to leave this hot and sticky cabin. Wade gets up abruptly and starts to pick up his tunic and pants before he sees how dirty it is compared to his recently washed hands.

“Oh shoot, I didn’t even think about that. Hmm, maybe Theresa’s husband has some clothes that fit,” He gives Wade barely clothed body an up and down before spluttering out,” Do you want to join me or, uh, maybe you want to wait here while I get them?”

“That might be best,” Wade concedes. He can’t imagine walking around the land with nothing but a towel and asking a stranger for his clothes. It’s definitely happened a few times on his marauding trips, but that was before he became a mass of ugly.

Peter nods once but hesitates by the door. “Wade? I’m really glad you came to us, selfish as that sounds. And thank you.” The door is clicked shut before Wade can even respond.

* * *

Peter had made some apologies about being busy with work after giving the spare clothes, and for once Wade is actively convincing the voices that he’s not being ditched on the side of the road for being too noisy, too annoying, too  _ risky _ . He’s trying to follow the path that he and Peter had come down originally but when he looks at the side of the house there’s two doors that he hadn’t noticed before. So long as no one is supervising him, he should be able to scout the layout without any trouble. 

Leaving the trail behind he makes a path in the uncut grass between him and the house. Grasshoppers and a few mayflies skitter away as he comes up to a shaded and fenced porch. There’s nothing to do but climb. Two sections of the house on either side jut out to the edge of the porch. Nailed to either side are several lines of thread bouncing in the wind, some accompanied by sheets or pinned clothes. The early afternoon sun leaves this side of the house shaded to the point of a chill when the gusts come in. Wade can’t pick out distinct sensations with his skin, but it’s relaxing, especially after his warm bath. 

Over the fence he comes across the two doors he’d spied through the billowing sheets. They’re both plain, though not copies of each other and only one has a window. Peering through it he can only see a brick wall. Quickly recognizing it from his first entry into the house he makes a mental note that if he ever escapes through the dining room he’ll have to jump a fence. The other door is far more finicky since he’s going to have to open it to see.  _ It’s a near abandoned house. How bad could it be? _

The door protests its opening with a drawn out whine, but he only makes a crack to peer into. There’s an odd orange light hitting the wall in his view. A polished faucet is illuminated red, glaring at him from above a porcelain trough. It’s eerily quiet, not a sound, not even a drip from the faucet. Wade waits and he strains for any little noise and after a minute or so he can pick out a rustling noise. It comes and goes at a random interval and last only a second, but the more he searches for it the clearer he hears it. 

The red glow, the sound coming in every so often, it’s too much. Too much like a room at the compound with the early morning sun burning his eyes, skin, mouth,  _ eyes, heart, skin, lungs, eyes eyes eyes _ .

Wade lets the door go and it closes gently. No bang like the iron door and nothing holding his hands back from opening it right back up again. He catches his breath while rubbing uneasily at his wrists. The refuge from the heat and the gentle snaps from the long white sheets calm him further, but exploring the house no longer seems like such a fun idea. 

Sitting down on the weathered wooden ground Wade rests himself on the railing, weary of the groan it gives, and closes his eyes. He’d not slept much at all in the past few days. Everything has been changing so quickly sleep has been a luxury for his future self to enjoy when he’s safe and sound. Wade was safe in the cabin with Peter but everything is far more scary than he imagined. 

For a couple more minutes he rests outside, enjoying the breeze.The image of Peter’s lips comes into mind the second Wade closes his eyes. And then he can almost feel them again, the soft tentative touch of a person gifting him that intimacy. What happened in the cabin was far less racy than he anticipated for the cocktail of arousal that Wade was stewing in, yet it was far more pleasurable than any touch he’d experienced in years. A quick fuck sounded amazing, but it didn’t sound like what he needed. Instead, his heart is a gooey, melting romantic just thinking about the way Peter had blushed and met his eyes with such intensity.

Sighing, Wade slips down the bannister until his toes are almost touching the  _ scary door. _ A high pitched squeak comes from behind it making Wade instantly tense. The sound of water running echoes out from the door, then another squeak trailing off into a groan, and the water is off.  _ Moving away from the creepy door might be ideal,  _ he thinks right as it swings open and right onto Wade’s toes.

“Ow, fuck!” he cries out.

A pinched face, pale woman with russet hair peers out from the door, “What in the absolute hell are you doing laying right by the door! There’s people working here, you know!”

Her accent is strikingly familiar and it takes Wade only a second to pin it down as the exact same as Aunt May’s, holding a brusque commoner lilt that any noble around these parts won’t dare to effect unless it’s at the butt of a joke.

“I was trying to stay the fuck away from what ever is in that room! If I’d known you were in it, I would’ve just run away,” he says snidingly, refusing to move even as she pushes the door against his feet.

With a scoff, the young woman slams the door open once more and wiggles her way out. In her hand is a scraped pelt covered in spiney fur. 

“There’s not a chance you got a boar by yourself,” Wade challenges, looking up and down her slight frame. She’s muscular, but even the strongest men go boar hunting with spears and dogs. He doesn’t bother to mention that it’s poaching for anyone except the king and his men.

“Right you are, stranger. I didn’t catch a boar, only a piglet. They’ve got enough meat if you cook ‘em right.”

“Ah, excuse me milady!” He jumps up and spirals a hand through the air, ending with a bow, “Wade Wilson, mercenary, bodyguard, and handmaiden, at your service!”

She laughs boisterously and with several snorts before extending her hand, asking for a shake, like one man to another. The brief surprise when Wade takes it willingly doesn’t escape his notice.

“Mary Jane,” she introduces, “Call me MJ.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone! College has started up again and so I've had less time to write. I don't quite know when the next one will be out. Hopefully soon but it completely depends on my workload. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you to everyone! A special thanks to my beta for this chapter, DropTheBeet!


	6. Chapter 6

“So, you’re the gift all wrapped up in shiny foil for our little omega? Gods, I can’t imagine that. But I can imagine May’s face when Harry came out looking all proud of himself.”

“I believe the order of events was the prince trying to introduce me to my new family, Miss May threatening to cane him, and him running away with his tail between his legs,” Wade cleans his ear with a pinky as he stares out at the grass sea, “But that day was kinda fuzzy. May have remembered it wrong.”

MJ slaps down the pelt on the railing and moves to the other side of the porch, grabbing a small tanning rack. “Well, I wasn’t there when it happened, but wasn’t that yesterday morning?” she asks, coming back.

“It may be so.”

They watch the white sails go in and out of their vision as the sun begins to crash against the peaks of green waves. The wind tosses the waves up and down until Wade can’t make out where he’d cut his path through.

“You don’t sound like us,” MJ interrupts.

“Not from here.”

“Course, but you talk a bit more like Peter. It’s odd.”

“I don’t. No one talks like Peter except scribes and priests.”

She smirks at him while running sewing thongs into the pelt, “No one talks like Peter, huh? Well, you don’t seem to have trouble talking to him.”

“You said yourself that you weren’t there,” Wade decides to call her bluff.

He knows he got it wrong when she grins like a wolf. “You may not see ‘em, you may not hear ‘em, but there are plenty of people around here who know just where to look and listen,” She shrugs then, as if shaking off her threatening demeanor, “We’re bored, mister. We got nothing better to do than make our bread, till the earth, and gossip.”

“And hunt piglets.”

“Hey! Those damn things are squealers! It’s not easy trying to wrestle down the bastards while it’s ma is waiting in the bushes, ready to fight.” She pulls a thong around the frame too tight in her enthusiasm, cracking the pelt around the edge. “Damn it.”

The sun has started to hit the trees now, shortening the shadow that’s protecting him and MJ every second they wait. Luckily, just when he’s starting to wonder if he should go through the door to the dining room, MJ finishes stretching out the pelt and motions him to come with.

With nothing better to do, he follows her passed both doors and to the opposite end of the porch, where the empty frames lay. Instead of picking another up, MJ grips a slate on the wall and yanks it out, swinging a whole panel off the wall with it.

“Does this place have no end?” he grouses.

“Depends on what stairs you use.”

They step down into a room that’s covered wall to wall in saturated light. Tall, thin panes of stained glass coat the room in a bright, eerie mosaic. The windows are made of individual shards of glass rather than the clean-cut pieces in churches that form images or patterns. There’s only a riot of colors that occasionally pierce into one another, forming a new color out of two windows on opposite sides. And covered in color is a couch and armchairs so wide Wade can imagine Peter falling asleep curled up in one. He would have to come in here at night to see the true colors of the furniture.

MJ is hanging the frame on a nail high up on the wall, near a table covered in scrolls and books. Dragging his fingers through the papers, Wade can catch the soaked-in scent of Peter. Peter, who must come in here to read or maybe write, because Peter would be smart enough to know his letters.  _ Would he sit on the couch? Or does he bring a chair to the table? Is the light too colorful in the afternoon, so he only comes early? Did I take up his reading time? _

There’s the thump of the door and Wade is driven out of his stupor by MJ’s exit. She’s left him alone without even a threat about the nature of thieves or a shotgun speech,  _ eh, crossbow speech?  _ Cracking open the door she went through, Wade is greeted with the familiar sight of the dining room. There’s not a soul around, but he keeps MJ’s warning in mind and creeps silently through the foyer and past a set of open, glass double doors. Before entering, he can only see a cozy circle of different types of seats all facing a wool rug. Once inside, there’s a heavy scent of parchment and likely more than a hundred books.

There are bookshelves all hidden around divider walls, and desks scattered in every possible nook. None of the wooden shelves look expertly crafted but everything else belongs in a house of scholars. Although he knows he can’t read anything, Wade plucks a few books from their places just to flip through the pages. All of them seem hand copied, with blots of rushed ink and stains soaked through.

He’s just picked up a book with only a bound spine and is fanning it out when he suddenly catches that scent again. There’s no way to describe how Peter smells other than bitter and sweet at the same time. He fans the book again to better scent the air, but it’s nothing more than a memory. Again he flips through, this time noticing that it’s written in the same quick scratches as all the others. Quickly, he puts the book back and begins searching. 

Along the rows, he spots another with its parchment still uncovered. He opens it in the middle and there’s the same handwriting, with a few inscriptions at the bottom of the page written in tiny strokes. It holds the same vague scent of Peter.

Clutching the book in his hand he searches for the nearest table. When he sets the open book down, it suddenly occurs to Wade that he has no idea what he’s trying to do. Some letters look familiar just from seeing them so often at the facility but he doesn’t have any idea how to sound them out or the words they make. Yet he finds himself fascinated by Peter’s writing and the way the letters curl and sharpen at seemingly no prerogative. He runs his fingers over a line and is surprised by how indented the page is.

“Wade?”

Turning sharply, Wade is nearly face-to-face with Peter who’s dressed in common, well-fitted clothes.  _ A hallucination. There’s no way I didn’t hear or see him come up beside me. _ But it doesn’t matter what Wade thinks because Peter is standing next to him and flipping a side of the book over.

“Ah, Plato’s Republic: Book IX. A bit too sympathetic for my tastes, but Socrates’ dialogue is always a classic,” he blushes then, as if anything he just said had reason to be considered shameful. 

“I, uh, can’t read…” Wade says stupidly.

“Oh, of course! That was silly of me to assume. Just… you’re in the middle of a book so,” Peter trails off.

_ Very very stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

Luckily, before Wade can think up an excuse, Peter does it for him.

“If you’d like to practice I can show you some easier books. Greek translations have plenty of words you’d never use today. I also have some that are simply better transcribed,” he frowns at the text, “If I remember rightly, I got quite frustrated midway through and rushed through the remainder. Like I said, too sympathetic of the tyrant.”

“I’ll trust your judgment on that. What are you doing here? Besides it being your house.”

Peter covers his mouth as he laughs, his smile a lamplight in the dim library. “I’m headed to the bookkeep to return a book I finished, and if I’m fortunate he’ll have another one ready for me. I came to pick it up when I saw you here. When I’m back I can help you with any words that trouble you.”

He turns to leave, but Wade is quicker. Taking hold of Peter’s hand, Wade steps up to him with a nervous glance at the open entrance.

“Let me go with you. Please. I mean, I am your guard, and I’d like to go with.”

Surprised but not rejecting the touch, Peter brings their clasped hands up to his chest. Wade almost gasps at the quick delicate stroke of Peter’s thumb between his knuckles. Finally, Peter relieves the tension, “I wouldn’t mind it if you were to come with me. But I’m afraid I’m not going to be… leaving the area. Are you okay with that?”

“All the more reason to protect you. Until I teach you to protect yourself, that is,” he quickly amends.

With a pleased smile, Peter pulls him back into the main area to pick up a large tome. Back in the foyer, he lets go of Wade to sift through a chest of coats and capes. Wade is handed a dark quilted jacket and red chaperon, which he covers his head with gratefully. Peter’s clothes are simple, riding boots and leathers, a jerkin with a linen shirt. From the chest, he pulls a long coat, much lighter but made of stiff cotton. 

“The store itself isn’t far but I still take Desere to carry all the books,” Peter explains as he pulls on the overcoat and jogs outside. “She’s also a rather safe horse to ride. Would you prefer to walk or ride?”

Having ridden his fair share in life, but certainly no expert, Wade feels most comfortable on his own two feet. It’ll do him some good to build back his endurance anyway. 

“Walking is easier for me. Horses are demons in the disguise of a cow.”

Bursting out in surprised laughter, Peter turns around as he leads the way down the right side of the path. “They are certainly not! Perhaps less loyal than a dog, but no less useful. A horse is a means of transportation, a worker with the strength of ten men, and a companion all in one. You just haven’t met the right one.”

“That’s what my Ma used to say about women. I told her so that I’m not chasing skirt and she’d say ‘Clearly not the right one.’” Wade spits into the grass, “Fuck her.”

Peter is only mildly perturbed by the sudden display. “Can’t say I have experience with bad mothers.”

“You’ve got experience with good ones. Your aunt is your mother in a way, right?”

“In a way, yes. In many others, no. But she’s always been good at taking care of me so I wouldn’t dare discredit her that.”

Coming up to a barn, they pass two large paddocks first. One is filled with a mix of sheep and horses, the other with a few spotted cows. The smell of hay and horse manure is strong, but so is the leather and grain. An odd, but distinct combination of scents. Inside, only five horses are tied to their troughs, all of them looking a little worn around the shoulders.

“Desere!” Peter calls softly to a big chestnut mare, “Could you grab the saddle on the top right for me, Wade? And her bridle should be right with it.”

Obligingly, he pulls a high backed saddle and bridle from its place among the dusty racks. Peter quickly scoops the saddle from his arms and stands on his toes to set the saddle on the mare’s back. Once the bridle is put on, Peter delicately slides the tome into a saddlebag and leads both Wade and the mare outside. 

The constant contact from Peter is making him feel warm and nervous. It’s exhilarating after all these years of pain to feel something so tender. But the more Wade relishes the touch, the more betrayed he feels when it’s taken away.  _ He’s never going to belong to me. _ It’s a horrible way to think, but Wade can’t help it. Whether by instinct or his possessiveness he can just barely resist pushing Peter up against a wall.

“Are you alright, Wade?” Peter is on top Desere already, looking down concernedly.

“Fine, baby boy. Just lost in my own thoughts,” Wade shrugs him off and starts the walk down the gravel road.

“And what thoughts were those?” There is something odd in Peter’s voice. Shaky, but curious.

Quirking a brow from underneath his hat Wade says, “Nothing in particular…”

For some reason, a blush suffuses across his cheeks, and he looks through his lashes with a side-eye that Wade might call flirtatious if he didn’t know better. The trip to the bookshop was going to be a long one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to hell! Sorry this is so late! I was just so busy getting rawed by college that I had no time to edit, let alone write. Some good news though! This fic isn't going to be master length and will be around 12 chapters? I haven't marked it so because I put a ~2k word limit on myself so the amount of chapters is still iffy. And! I'm going to be putting up another little fic soon after this as my apology for being late. I hope everyone enjoyed!
> 
> p.s I also realized that I titled the first chapter but none of the others so... that was my mistake :/


	7. Chapter 7

Funny, how the houses look so different going backward. No longer in an elevated cage, Wade can’t see over the fences and their guarded perimeter. Peter could likely see them if he stretched, up on his mare, but he isn’t focused on their surroundings right now. Instead, he’s chatting amicably with Wade about all the odd sort he’s met about the town.

The closed-in lane is hardly busy, but Wade keeps an eye out for passerbyers anyway. 

“I’m glad that there are not too many people about. I was hoping we could be left alone for most of this trip.” Peter nods and returns a “God Bless” as they pass a gentleman and his carriage. 

“You don’t think I could protect you, Peter?” Wade smirks up at him, “Do you have so little faith in my abilities? I’m quite a scare so I’ve been told.”

Scoffing, Peter rolls his eyes, “Oh, yes. A fearsome beast you are! Stealing cream from the kitchen and lounging in the shade. More like an overgrown barn cat, I’m afraid.”

_ There’s no way… How did she?  _ Eyes and ears everywhere indeed. Wade hadn’t been separated from MJ long before Peter found him, so they must’ve met in the middle. Somewhere in the middle of that labyrinth of a house.

“Well, I never! There certainly wasn’t this kind of abuse at the last estate I served!” Wade marches forward with his nose in the air.

Peter trots back up to pace with a giggle. “Come back, my lady! You’re a sight too sweet to give up. I swear I meant no insult. Less like a barn cat, more like a…  _ doxy _ ,” Peter finishes with a wicked smile, awaiting a reaction.

“Will you be my knave, then?” Wade dares to brush up against his leg, fiddling with the end of Peter’s pant leg.

“Oh,” says Peter, quickly turning pink in that blush Wade does so love. “My lady- ah, Wade. For you… mayhaps.”

The image of Peter, roguish and free, must’ve hit something fierce in Wade’s heart, because he suddenly felt his heart kick and blood rushes to his face.

“Are you…?”

“No!” Wade slaps his hands over cheeks then reaches up to uncoil the chaperon into a hood. Once he’s rolled the sides short to continue his guard, he dares a glance up.

“You do look quite pretty with a blush,” Peter assures.

_ A seraphim, a succubus.  _ His smile is equal parts sadistic and gentle as he gives Wade one last heated gaze, then focuses back on the road as a moving crowd gets closer. Now Wade knows he has to leave soon. There is simply no way he can survive this omega much longer.

They’ve finally reached the end of the manors; though the lane stretches on ahead of them, Peter traverses the crowd to turn left, onto the main road. Keeping close, Wade lays a hand on the mare’s flank and ducks his head as they enter a stream of bodies.

The quiet of Peter’s home has treated Wade far too well. He’d almost forgotten that suffocating, lonely feeling of being in a crowd. Voices battering against his ears, it’s much easier for the ones in his head to slip through.  _ Disgusting. _ And of course, he can’t look too far up or else his face will be exposed like a beam of burning sun.  _ Eyes, eyes.  _ There’s no safe place once they see him. Whispers fly faster than birds and soon it’s a flock of them mocking, laughing, pointing then he’s  _ begging, pleading, bleeding. _

“Wade.”

He looks up, and there are no voices here. Just Peter, seeing him as if he were any other person, and yet, Peter hasn’t looked at anyone else this way.  _ I would tear them apart. _

They’re next to a small road where several lathering horses are tied, drinking heavily from their troughs. There’s hardly anyone around once more, and Peter is looking at him. Expectant, waiting on something that Wade doesn’t know how to willingly give up.

“It’s only,” He begins. But there’s no way to describe the tide of voices that come and go on a whim, so he says, “There’s more people than I was expecting. Let’s get inside, quickly.”

Peter looks too knowingly at Wade for his liking but obeys. The mare is hitched, but before he can rush into the shop marked with a painted insignia of a quill and book, Peter reaches out with his hand not wrapped around his tome, gently grasps at his sleeve, and slips his hand into Wade’s own.

They’re in public, and Wade, he realizes with horror, doesn’t have gloves on. The warmth that Peter exudes is alluring, no doubt, but he can’t be taken off track when they’re surrounded by monsters at every turn. With a quick shuffle, Wade removes himself from Peter’s side and takes a position slightly behind him, setting up a guard. Feeling much better with both of them protected Wade tries to ignore the hurt look he’s sent, focusing on the new territory instead.

The bookkeep is quiet, as expected, and airy. Half the tomes seem to be stacked on tabletops rather than fitted into shelves. The first room doesn’t contain much but the moment the bell above the door is rung,  _ clever tactic,  _ a young man in clergy robes shuffles out.

He takes one look at Peter and mutters, “Ah, you again.”

Wade gives an affronted snort, edging forward to keep Peter sheltered but he seems to have expected the man’s demeanor. His sweet Peter nods and performs a traditional curtsey, which looks a bit ridiculous in pants, but seems to soothe the man’s ego a bit. 

“God bless, cleric! I finished the last book you gave me,” Peter is all cheer and homely warmth and Wade can smell what’s happening even before he speaks again, “Sir… I didn’t understand much of the chapter, but I was able to finish it all! Are you proud, sir?”

Oh, Wade is going to kill someone. Likely within the next five minutes, too. And this feeling comes over him quite suddenly and strangely calm. There’s no frantic bloodlust to the thought. He just  _ has to. _

“Yes, yes. All very well and good, omega. Now let me check for damages. I presume you’ll want another book?” The man thumps down his stack of papers onto a desk and nearly janks the tome from Peter’s hands.

“Of course! I get far too bored if it’s the same chapter over and over again.”

Rolling his eyes in a long-suffering way, the clergyman sits at his desk and waves them off, giving a parting warning, “Don’t let that thing go near my collection.”

And that is what calms his sprig of murderous desire. The comforting, open scent of Peter retreats like it’s being physically reeled back into his body. In reality, Wade is close enough to smell the exuded hospitality turn into hostility. He isn’t sure how well this ink huffer can smell pheromones but luckily Peter is pulling Wade quickly into the second room of the shop and down a few rows before turning to Wade with a furious expression. 

“You  _ cannot  _ do that to me, Wade!” he hisses out, yanking Wade’s fingers.

Already anxious in his surroundings, Wade jumps to alert at the sudden warning. He’s too confused to be hurt.

“What have I done to upset you? It’s that pomp in there you should be barking at! Not me!” He pulls from Peter’s grasp to throw up his hands in surrender. 

Peter is silent for a moment, staring expectantly before blowing air harshly from his nose. 

“Fool!” he hisses, not sparing another glance before turning away.

_ Not foolish enough to think I didn’t do something wrong, but stupid enough to not know what.  _ He had told Peter that he was going to be acting as a guard, and all he was doing was his job. Try as he might Wade cannot imagine what happened within the last few minutes to upset Peter. And to upset him in such a way as this… 

The studious young man is hovering over a book stand flipping through pages with a manic sort of air. He doesn’t appear to be truly  _ angry _ but certainly disapproving. Well, Wade reasons with himself, he’s gotten in trouble plenty of times with his running mouth. Surely he won’t be hurt too bad if he asks one wrong question.

Peter radiates anxiety as he sidles up to him. His foot taps rapidly on the floor while he stills over a page, his eyes not moving.  _ I’ve scared another one off. _

“Peter, I don’t know what’s upset you, but I wasn’t trying to scare you, only the cleric. I’m… I’m sorry if I did,” When there’s no answer Wade hurries on, “I don’t want to scare you. By God, I didn’t think it was possible to! I suppose I should remember that you know how to take care of yourself too. I’ve only been here for all of a day, really.”

Peter hasn’t moved, although he looks more downcast now. Thinking that he must’ve royally screwed up again, Wade moves to give Peter some space. Small but strong fingers wrap around his palm. 

The touch is burning, so different from the comforting warmth of before. Yet Wade already craves it just as much. 

“I was so close to losing control. Wade… it’s so easy to forget around you.”

He meets Wade’s eyes, and Wade suddenly realizes and  _ knows _ , and all the messy, bloody feelings that have been clutched tighter and tighter to Wade’s chest burst open into one large mess. He must smell horrible again, releasing all these bitter pheromones into the cramped space. But he can’t help it because  _ he knows. _ Instead of rejecting what must be a nauseating cloud of hormones, his hand travels up Wade’s arm in a delicate stroke. Which Wade is grateful for. After all, he could be shattered with a mere touch now that  _ he knows. _

He knows why Peter kissed him in the bathhouse, and blushed at the sudden pet name, and held his hand in public even when Wade wasn’t wearing gloves. There’s nothing about Wade worth liking, or even tolerating. From the moment he’s been with Peter he’s proven what a horrible person he is.  _ So why does he like you? _

Even saying the words sounds foolish. Those were things in his childhood. The idea that he could be liked, and possibly loved is overwhelming.  _ There’s no way this can happen.  _ It’s something that happens to other people, not him. 

Peter’s hand rests against his cheek now, smoothing something wet with his thumb before stretching up. He can’t quite reach, though. Wade has to meet his lips. His soft, gorgeous lips that seem to melt around Wade’s own.

Far different from those gentle explorations in the steam of only hours ago, they kiss hungrily. Needing each other, needing to confirm what they both now know to be true.

And then they stop. They must. 

“I would take you right now,” Wade pants hungrily into his neck.

“If the bookkeep saw us?”

“I would kill him for laying eyes on you.”

Peter snarls or smiles, Wade can’t tell and asks, “If the prince walked in here?”

Words fail to make it past his throat. Only a hair raising growl expresses the deep rage that claws his insides at those words.

“ _ That’s  _ how I felt when that piece of shit dared to look down on you!” Peter hisses, grabbing the back of Wade’s neck, he forces him to bend down. “And what did you do? What did you do!”

The flush of power at his position threatens to make his knees buckle, but also keeps him focused enough to fully realize what Peter means. This whole time he’d known he was surrounded by enemies but it was Peter who was playing the game and keeping them safe.

“I distracted you,” Wade honest to God whimpers, “I said I was going to protect you but all I did was cause trouble! I’m sorry, Peter!”

“You’re damn right! You made me lose my temper when you know I have to be in control at all times. And now-!” He loses his steam with a characteristic blush. 

It’s cruel to take advantage, but Wade can’t help himself from getting a rise out of this omega. Especially if it always leads to scenarios like this. 

“What’s wrong?” Wade brushes the back of his hand up Peter’s thigh, circling dangerously close to the straining fabric there.

Peter looks at him, aghast for a second before his shock melts into an amalgamation of gritted teeth and arousal. “You...” his words are already being stolen by Wade’s mouth.

A heavy slap against the stone floors breaks them both out of their bubble. The cleric is standing there, pale-faced as his eyes flicker over Wade and Peter’s close embrace.

Instantly, Peter recoils into him, his steady grip becoming clawed. Wade isn’t sure what kind of picture he’s presenting but the cleric flinches back worse than Peter. And although it pains him to reject Peter’s plea for comfort, he marches forward, shielding the hunched figure behind him, and speaks deeply and softly.

“You! Are not going to tell anyone. You’re not going to tell any  _ thing _ . Because there is nothing that you saw here today to draw your attention.” The pitiful worm is already nodding frantically, but Wade isn’t finished, “Maybe you saw the son of an old family walk in. Maybe you saw some couples. Whatever you saw, you were so busy shoving your nose into the crack of a book, you can hardly remember. Do I need to make you understand?”

“No! No, no, of course not!” The combination of his quivering voice and the stink of fear sends a thrill through Wade’s chest, a feeling he thought he’d forgotten. He needs to get them out of here, and fast.

“Good! If you ever need help refreshing your memory, let me know. Peter, let’s go,  _ now _ .”

Not needing to be told twice, he tucks his head and practically runs across the shop, grabbing Wade’s hand on the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF I had such a hard time writing this so sorry for the wait. Much love to all of you patiently waiting out there <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVED BITCH  
> p.s I have no fucking idea where I got the name Desere from. I just thought what are some old timey sounding names? and my brain went "here's one"

His panting is heavy in Wade’s ears as they run out of the shop, their desperate sprint to the horse is noticed by several passerby, but they can’t be bothered to worry right now. Peter is up on the mare and already extending a hand. Perhaps there should be some more reluctance in Wade’s grasp but instead he throws himself behind Peter, wrapping him up in his arms and joining his hands at the reins. In unison, they ride, loping as fast as safely possible on the cobbles. 

The ride that had seemed so leisurely on the way there is turned into a mad dash through the streets until they made it back to the stretch of road back in the neighborhood. Focused on getting back to the only safe place he knows, it takes Wade a stupidly long amount of time to recognize that Peter’s quick breaths are turning into stifled sobs.

Taking control of the seat, Wade canters them through an open gate with nothing but open field and a well groomed manor. 

“W-Wade? What are you doing? Stop that!” Peter tries jerking the reins back, but Wade has his wrists clamped tight and easily keeps him still.

On grass, Wade kicks the old mare into the fastest gallop she’s probably done in years. Struggling under the combined weight and her age, Desere groans on each exhale but keeps up the pace until Wade sees the back fence of this property.

Peter has calmed under him, but his breathes are starting to sound like Desere’s. Even in his panic Wade tries desperately to reassure him, “I’m taking us back, Peter. I promise. You need to take deep breaths, baby boy. Let me take control.”

And he does. Wade is startled, in fact, by how loose he becomes, almost knocking himself from the saddle before he leans all his weight back on Wade’s chest. Unable to see his face, Wade can only tuck him in closer, breathing in his sweet scent, and keep them moving forward.

There’s the distant clamor of household servants seeing them too late and dogs barking up a storm in the kennels they pass, but Wade disregards it all for the wooden fence that separates the combed plantations from the greenwood. It’s low enough that even the dusty old mare should make it, and the woods are covered enough for them not to be seen on their way back so Wade kicks Desere back up, despite her protests. As he does so it seems to spur some life back into Peter, and he immediately latches on to Wade’s plan.

Loosing his feet from the stirrups, he gives them up to Wade, which his subpar riding skills are grateful for, and leans forward. He actually slows Desere down, but hooks his hips into the saddle and sends them into a much smoother gait. 

“Keep forward, against me,” is all he says before they’re at the fence, up, and over.

It’s a bit of a miracle that Wade stays on honestly. Despite his best efforts he’s still thrown back and nearly looses his balance enough to be flung right off the mare’s rump. With a quick yank on the back of Peter’s tunic he stabilizes himself.

Whatever spell had overcome Peter ends abruptly. He slumps back once more, despite the unsteady gait. Several times Wade considers stopping just to comfort him, but there’s little point. Right now what he needs is his family, and likely a lot of distance from Wade.

He weaves closer to the back of the homesteads when he needs to gauge their distance, but otherwise keeps well into the tree line to ensure no one is watching them make their escape. Rumors and gossip are one thing, but sprinting away on a horse together, hiding in the woods, is such blatant criminal behavior that they’d be spotted in a minute. Although a few voices tug at his ears, reminding him of what he’s done, and eyes form out of the spots on trees, he keeps them at bay by holding Peter closer. 

Wade nearly cries out in relief when he finally spots the stacked stone border, crumbling at the corners and tangled in flora. Poor Desere is foaming at the mouth when Wade finally lets her drop down into a trot, but it’s Peter he’s truly worried about. He hasn’t said a word since the fence, and now that they need to get back over, he hasn’t awoken again. 

Marching along the curves of the fence Wade searches for any gap or gate he can use, but even the lowest points would require him to jump Desere once more. Finally, he decides to risk it.

“Peter,” he nudges him in the side, hoping to poke some awareness into him, “Peter we need to cross.” There’s no response. His harsh breathing makes it impossible for Wade to determine if he’s truly resting or in a trance. He tries again, “I don’t want to go back to the road, Peter. Please, wake up!”

He’s nearly given up and turned them around to search the property edge once more when he hears a groggy whisper, “What’s the point? It’s not like they don’t know,” Peter slurs into his shoulder, his head lulled back.

_ His throat bared. Sweet, white skin ready to be made red.  _ The voice startles him, seemingly coming from nowhere. Sure he’d heard them here and there, but ever since he got here they haven’t spoken so clearly in so long.

“It’s not! They don’t! Peter, please, listen to me. Help me over again, or… where was that part your Aunt told me to climb?” When he doesn’t get a coherent response, Wade jostles Peter around roughly, demanding an answer, “The fence, peter! Where is it falling down?”

Blown pupils watch him from slitted eyes, concerning Wade that there’s something truly wrong with him, but Peter answers fully now.

“To the side, from where we came,” he mumbles, but his voice grows just a little stronger, “Follow around halfway down. You’ll see the back of a cottage over it, not far from the bathhouse.”

With a sigh of relief, he kicks the mare forward, following per instructions. He thinks he’s caught sight of it when there’s suddenly a strong grip on his his forearm and he sees Peter twisting around in the saddle, almost knocking himself off.

“Here?” Peter asks.

“What?” Assuming that he’s asking if they’re at the right spot, he quickly replies, “Yes, here. Or is it somewhere else?” It does appear to be the weakest point of the wall, with most of the stones piled up on the ground.

“Here?” Peter asks again, still sounding dazed. His grip has tightened, and with it Wade notices the fine tremors in his limbs. His eyes begin to crack open more, observing their surroundings with more and more panic. “No. Wade? Not here! I can’t go back now!” his pleading eyes suddenly turn feral as he snarls, “You promised, Wade! I thought you promised me, and you’re a liar. A liar just like the rest of them!”

_ He’s right.  _ Confused and distraught, he instinctually agrees with the voice. He must have done something to cause this. Wade always finds a way to fuck everything up. But sitting there, the hazy, sweet scent of flowers growing stronger as Peter struggles, grounds him back to the man in his arms. 

“Peter, I have no idea what you’re talking about,”  _ Liar!  _ “I know you. I understand that you’re scared, but you would never leave your home, your family, like this,”  _ He knows what you really want. He’s begging for it! Give it to him!  _ “You’re the one who’s lying.”

With an alarming cry, Peter slams his elbow back and tries to toss his legs over the saddle. With Wade’s grip around his chest, he can only twist himself so far.

“Let me go at once!” he demands, his voice making a mockery of all the times Wade thought he was being stuck up. But the honeyed scent clinging to his flushed skin, and the blackened ring of his irises only convinces Wade further of Peter’s self delusion. 

_ No one knows where he is. He’s asking us to take him, just what we’ve wanted since the moment we’ve laid eyes on him.  _

“Stop it!” Wade snarls, yanking on the reins in frustration. The dark holes in the fence between each stone look at him, cursing him for not giving in to his temptations. Undeterred, he shakes his head vigorously, knowing it will get rid of them.

With clenched teeth Wade digs his heels in and forces Desere forward one last time. The fence is so low on the incline that the mare doesn’t need to actually jump it, but struggles to clamber over the shifting stones and down the hillside. Back on mostly flat terrain once more Wade almost wants to jump off and let the horse free, if for no other reason than to feel like he’s doing something. But he has to curb those desires for Peter’s safety and instead trots them past the numerous small fields of yielded or growing crops until they see the barn. Right in front of it is MJ and the baker boy.

“You promised,” says a broken whisper below him. Peter, he sees with distress, looks both desperate and defeated. “What happened to letting me grow stronger? To training me? To becoming a rogue?” he whimpers.

Wade’s breath is taken away as he stares down at this man. The omega he’s known for barely two days, who’s changed so much in Wade, and he’s broken him.  _ I told you this would happen,  _ the voice wraps itself around his mind just as he opens his mouth so he has to click it close in fear that the thought will come out with him unbidden.

Despite all the sadness that aches him so when he thinks about giving Peter away, there is, as there always is, a fissure of fury running through him as well.

“Did you just think of me as your ticket out?” Wade growls, feeling like he’s in the bathhouse all over again, “Because I’ll tell you what would’ve happened Peter. One of two things! Either you’d be too weak and get yourself killed over some stupid fight you thought you could win, or you’d grow strong enough to realize you don’t need me.” He can see MJ catch sight of them walking forward and just looking at her makes his blood boil. 

_ How could you ever think you would live this life? That you would claim these as your allies? _

“I know!” And for once Wade doesn’t care that he’s talking to himself around Peter. He wraps an arm around Peter’s chest and carries him off the saddle while dismounting. With a rough shove, Wade distances himself with the omega.  _ That’s all he is, and ever will be. _

“You’ll realize too,” Wade says in wake of Peter’s silence, “That you don’t want me, either.”

* * *

He watches MJ pull Peter into her arms and cradle his face. The baker boy, Ned, runs into the house on shaking legs, unable to look Wade in the eyes when he had dropped Peter off. He has to leave now, before Auntie comes out, but  _ just another minute. Just give me another minute to remember what he looks like. _

Wade considers himself a strong man. Then, the front door clicks open, and the sight of Peter’s mother figure sends him scurrying back over the hole in the fence.  _ Vermin. A pest. _ Biting his lip, he sucks up the tangy blood to distract his mind from how Peter had slipped his  _ disgusting _ hand into Wade’s without hesitation. Plenty of remarks about Peter’s intelligence and naivety comes to mind, but he pushes those to the side easily. They’re too far from the truth to even deserve a second thought.

He has to concentrate on formulating his path to freedom.  _ Freedom is buried in that omega. _

Hissing, Wade dives into a jog, hoping to hold the voices at bay long enough to recognize where he needs to go. With trees dissolving into a blur at his sides and the ground turning into an endless track, a clear thought finally breaks free.

If he follows the way back to the compound he can stay next to the road before breaking off onto a path to another settlement or village. Somewhere small where he can steal a few supplies and move on before anyone even notices them missing.

A white shape disappearing behind a hill stops him in his tracks before he can plan any further. There’s nothing there when he stops. But he swore he saw…  _ watching, burning, eyes. _

“NO!” his yell startles some songbirds from their perch.

Before he can start running from his mind again, another white shape quickly disappears from a knot in a bundle of roots next to his foot.  _ Eyes.  _ With a whimper he scurries back a bit. All the sudden, he can see them.  _ Watching.  _

Eyes in the gaps of the canopy. Eyes in the knots of trees and around each curve of each hill. 

He forgot. Has it really been so long since then? Since the metal doors and gore smeared rooms? Since the ice baths and whippings? Now that Wade thinks about it, he’s been so occupied with Peter that he’d almost completely forgotten about the  _ eyes all watching him around every corner. They watch his lungs burn and his skin melt and they’ll always be watching Francis says so. _

Another shape moves, and even though he can already tell it’s not another watcher he still can’t move from his frozen position, on the ground, he realizes suddenly. More shapes rise over the hill, each with a four note beat that crashes through the fallen leaves. Wade could still run, but it’s too little too late. Every one of them is mounted and armed, all too willing to mow him down should he try and flee. Though, Wade is sure that the little prince wants him alive long enough beg.  _ You have nothing on Francis _ , he wants to spit into that gloating face.

“It’s the scullery maid!” Prince Harry cries happily to his band of silent guards, “I paid good money for you, so it won’t do to have you running away from home, beast. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say sorry that this chapter is late but like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ya know? I'm kinda at that point where if someone hugged me rn I'd start crying, so instead I've just been living in this dank hole for a couple weeks while exams happened without my consent.  
> I really hope you guys like it though! I actually went back and added quite a bit more in when I realized that it was gonna be late anyway. As a final note, this is totally unbetaed except by my poor attempts and I have discovered that unabbiden is actually not a word even though my accent says so!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imbackbishes. No but for those of you concerned with WIPs all of the remaining chapters have been outlined and are going through the rough draft. In addition I will be including a map of the Parker grounds and a blueprint of the manor house, which I'm going to include as another part of this series(?? I might just add it as an end chapter. Lmk what you think is better)
> 
> -Including information about phrases and references for those interested in the notes below!  
> -Thank you so much to Jennicide for betaing!

His teeth feel like they’re cracking as he snarls. With every shining white tooth that this whoreson reveals in his snotty smirk, Wade realizes that tearing his lips off might not be such a bad idea. The guards surrounding him are appropriately wary though. They all look capable, in well kept armor and wielding a mix of poleaxes and longswords. Wade wonders if any of them have the balls to tell off their charge’s stupidity.

It doesn’t seem to be that way when the prince prances his white stallion forward. 

“You’ve been quite the loathsome little bastard, haven’t you? I was kind enough to give you to folks common enough to make even a dog like you feel at home, and you squandered my gift.” 

The mention of Peter and his family bristles Wade’s very core.

There are too many conflicting thoughts and conversations happening around him for him to properly respond. As he growls, however, he notices a guard holding tightly to his reins. The horse under him bucks its head up, watching Wade’s hunched over form with rolling, white eyes. The guard pulls it further into the formation, butting up against the other knights. It doesn’t earn more than an irritated glance from the prince before he’s back to looking far too pleased, as if he had tracked Wade himself.

But that would be impossible. Him and Peter hadn’t gone far enough away from the wall for there to be any tracks where Osborn came from. He’s about to demand answers when he’s forced to flinch away on instinct. The trees!  _ The trees!  _ Had been about to crash down on him, he was certain. 

The bray of some beast of burden makes him look back to Osborn, but no else reacts. There’s something horribly off about him, Wade can tell, but nothing appears different. 

_ Really, truly? You can’t see?  _ The trees leer down at him, laughing as he jerks his head back and forth between them. Perhaps they’re right. He certainly feels half blind, spinning in circles and assaulted by jeering laughter on all sides. For a split second he thinks he hears Peter, laughing along with them, but it can’t be. Peter was…

_ How did he look at him in such a way? Why did he smile when he kissed him?  _

Peter is too kind hearted a character to do such a thing. It’s the Prince, growing out of his saddle as he stands taller and taller, who mocks him incessantly. But remembering that Peter is back home, safe and sound despite the riot of mirages around him, finally gives Wade just enough solace.  _ It’s all fake _ , he reminds himself. The trees forming a pyre, the eyes pouring out of the stallion’s muscles, and the voices demanding blood, none of it is real.

If he can just stay on his feet long enough to hide, he has the strength to run and the strength to leave Peter alone. Taking careful steps backwards, Wade tries to keep centered as the ground shifts beneath his feet. His vision swims next, everything moving as if he’s looking through warped glass. It’s difficult for him to find his balance, but there’s no more time to stall. He bends over as if crouching in pain, then springs forward, heading into deeper forest where he might be able to slow the horses.

He can already tell by the first couple of steps that he’s not going to make it. Wade can ignore all manner of illusions when he knows they aren’t real, but there’s hardly a way to tell what’s trickery amongst trees. Were those roots reaching for his feet, or are they only sticking out of the ground? Are there branches clawing at his face, or is he safely away from the bramble?

“Come on,” Wade jeers as he stumbles once more, “Come and see what happens when you catch me!”

A bright burning pain knocks him to the ground. Unable to catch himself, his face and chest slam against the hard-packed dirt and increasing pain makes itself known in his right shoulder. The sensation of a bolt stuck into flesh is never a good one, but his vision is already clearing as his mind is better able to focus on the singular task before him. 

Hoofbeats sound behind him, coming in too fast for the uneven ground they’re on. Taking in a single breath to brace himself, Wade jumps up and rushes the horses, most of which predictably scatter to the sides. The stallion Osborn rides is made of sterner stuff, however. A properly trained courser, it doesn’t balk from Wade’s bluff. 

He sees the impending collision but can’t do anything except keep his feet under him and lean as far as he can. The stallion crashing into his chest digs its left hoof into Wade’s thigh, blowing past him fast enough to knock him to the side rather than trampling him underfoot. Wade knows the fall is going to be bad even before he touches the ground. 

The moment he’s on his back, he’s fighting to keep conscious. His landing has pushed the arrowhead out the other side.  _ It’s better this way _ , he reasons while biting the inside of his mouth until he gets a refreshing taste of iron,  _ I won’t have to dig the shaft out my hole later on.  _ He exhales what might be a laugh when the sky and ground become a soupy mess. There are several concerned shouts, which Wade only fully understands when he’s staring Harry Osborn in the face. 

It’s going to be Francis all over again. He’s going to go through pain so volatile that it churns his stomach, and he’s going to have to laugh about it. There are going to be kicks to his abdomen and all of his soft spots, but nothing is ever going to get stronger. His skin hasn’t gotten thicker, only more scarred.

_ Give in, give in, give in,  _ the wound pulses. 

When has he ever been one to listen to good advice?

He jerks forward, fingers made into claws that he digs into Osborn’s thin velvet mantle and tears. It not only knocks the prince off balance from his perch but lets Wade pull him even closer. His neck, pale and bony, and just within biting distance, is perfectly vulnerable. Osborn realizes his position with barely enough time to pull back. Wade doesn’t quite catch the soft flesh behind the bone but when his teeth sink in, there’s a burst of color that sends an erotic thrill to his core. It would have been the most exhilarating experience Wade has had since he was a mercenary, if not for Peter. 

Perhaps it’s that intruding thought which makes him hesitate. He’d much rather  _ feast on him rather than this lowlife _ . Before he can properly dig his teeth in, he’s been kicked in the side and a finger quickly worms its way into his mouth.

The gauntlet covered finger cleverly triggers his gag reflex. Combined with the pain in his side, he’s forced to let go without taking anything with him. He’s lucky enough to turn himself on his side before he lands on the arrow again, but he’s pushed to the ground. It’s then he realizes that only one guard remains on his horse now that Wade has attacked their charge. 

The one above him has an iron grip no matter how hard Wade struggles. A sudden, violent shiver chatters his teeth, and Wade realizes it’s futile. He’s been in prison for years and has the damage to prove it. He’s past the time where he could brute force his way out of a sticky situation. His body is past its prime and past benefitting from the adrenaline rush. The arrow feels red hot in his shoulder, sending tingles down his arm in fiery bites. The exhilaration is replaced with exhaustion and all Wade wants to do is go back. Go back and apologize to Peter for being so stupid. He doesn’t know what happened to him during that ride back, but it must’ve been something Wade did. 

Wade squeezes his eyes closed one last time before hardening his heart and beginning to struggle. All he can do now is struggle. 

The horrified shrieks from the prince abate once he realizes he’s not mortally wounded. With a curled lip, he stomps over to Wade and sends a kick straight into his face. Osborn nearly knocks the guard off his feet as he shoulders him out of the way and places his much lighter weight on Wade’s side.

He quickly tries to test the pressure, but the booted guard sees the threat and grabs him by the back of his neck. Osborn still manages to dig his heel into Wade’s wound with a strangled noise of delight. Forced onto his stomach, Wade refuses to dip back into that dark place in his mind again. He ignores the remaining voices in favor of kicking up dirt, making himself as big a nuisance as possible. 

“You!  _ You _ are going to get what’s coming for you,” Osborn snarls, “I tried to do what was right for my omega. It was your disgusting display that ruined everything!” 

He sounds nearly out of breath, but his fury is only rising. “That’s right, I know what you did! You... you fucking… filthy! I can’t even begin to imagine the horror. You’re crazy! That’s right, that’s right! Your mind is as twisted as your skin that you dare to force yourself on  _ my _ omega in public!”

The sharp laugh is starting to grate on his ears something fierce, but it spurs him to try once again. Pushing his body up onto his elbows and knees, he can just barely hold his head off the ground. His boot has a foothold on the wound, but he can’t control Wade’s legs in this position. Just a couple more inches and a steel foot slams down on the back of his hand. 

“Agh!” he screams, slumping to the ground once more as he writhes in pain.

“What a stupid brute!” Harry cackles, “I bet your mother was actually a pig, the way you act. Ha, he even looks like one! Jensen! Jensen, come look at this pig. Tell me, would you eat such a diseased creature?”

The guard kicks his horse as it pushes against its reins. “Butchers don’t take any sort of mange animal, my lord,” he says complacently.

“Yes, that’s…” Harry sighs, seething at Wade like he’s the one who has ruined his fun, “That’s the wit of it, Jensen.”

The pain now dulled, Wade spits out enough blood to harshly interject, “Is that all you can do, you spoon-fed, mandrake mymmerkin? Laugh evilly and tell foul jokes? I’d say you’re a big enough fool for the court, but you can’t even jest properly!”

The growl Osborn emits isn’t even half convincing, and the voices are just having too much fun picking this brat apart for him to not savor the opportunity. 

“And a beta to boot,” Wade continues, “Papa must be so proud!”

Osborn burns bright red before going blotchy and spitting out, “I’ve shaken the sheets without music more than your scaly hide ever has! I’m the prince, I can have whoever I want, and that includes Peter!”

“Prince? Prince? You’re no more a prince than that pauper who’s ready to throw himself on his sword for you.” Wade ignores the extra pressure on his wound the best he can. “Your father is nothing more than an uppity lord thinking himself royalty after he steal harvest.”

“Silence, I won’t have it! Guards, get a rope around him, now!”

“Does it make you feel swell when people whisper of your father’s treachery behind your back? I’ve heard plenty of it during the meager times I’ve passed through town.” He raises his voice, as Harry paces away and back again.

“I’M NOT THE ILL ONE HERE!” he finally loses it, yelling in pure hysteria, his eyes white and crazed. He heaves in breathes while Wade concentrates on struggling against the guard binding his hands.

Osborn crouches down, leaning in to hiss in Wade’s face, “Nothing is going to please me more than the knowledge that you’ll be swinging, blue in the face, while I have that omega face down, begging for more.” Wade sees white spots in his vision. “I’ve waited long enough! He’ll be worth it, I know he will. See, he’s so irresistible that I should’ve known a dog like you couldn’t control yourself! He’s been attacked left and right ever since his first heat. It’s because he’s held it all in! Repressed himself! Didn’t let his true nature take what it wants. Probably because of that hag teaching him,” he trails off distractedly. 

Of course, Wade can’t help but laugh. Osborn’s monologue is so riddled with holes, it’s a testament to how deluded he truly is.

At Osborn’s pinched look he butts in, “If you think that I could possibly force that young man into anything he didn’t want, you’re crazier than I am.”

But he doesn’t rise to the taunt again, instead shaking his head in a pitying manner. “You don’t know a thing about my Peter.”

Smiling at Wade’s snarl as rage makes his vision burn bright once more, Osborn mounts his courser and calls out, “Put a rope around his neck and hang him before you leave the trees!” And with that he canters off in the direction Wade just came from.

A barbed hook digs through Wade’s insides and pierces straight through his heart. It’s anger, not the spinning, shaking, earth shattering kind that makes the voices scream in delight, but something far more motivated for blood. With it sitting bright and hot under his breast, he focuses on biding his time as one guard retrieves a heavier rope from a satchel, another sits on his back becoming lacksidal with his captive’s compliance, and the final one still has his reins clenched in a fist.

Grounded from the pain, Wade can finally see and hear clearly. Without the blur of visions, it’s this mounted one that he focuses on. Watching, Wade sees him pulling the metal bit so hard that the horse is trying to fight it and yanking forward in the process. The guard has his hands at the side of the steed’s neck, pulling the remaining rein tightly, but also leaning over the saddle as he tries to shorten it even further. 

Just the other guard returns with the rope, the one on his back moves off to give him room to work. Wade tucks his feet under, gripping the soil with his bare toes and dives forward, screaming bloody murder as he puts himself directly in front of the panicking horse. 

The horse jumps back so fast, the unbalanced guard slides right off the front of him, his tight grip on the reins continuing to spur the green horse into action. Wade ducks out of its way in time before it tramples its rider and then knocks the other two guards aside. He doesn’t look back as he sprints, but the last thing he hears from them is their yells as their own steeds bolt off in a panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing I really want to say about my absence except, life happened. I stopped writing because of finals and once I was out of the habit, it was really hard to get back in. Before I knew it, a little under a month had passed and I hadn't touched  
> 1\. The time period this fic is placed in is late middle ages. Specifically, I've taken a lot of notes from one of my favorite games, Kingdom Come: Deliverance, which is set in the early 15th century, bordering on the start of the renaissance in eastern europe. I've taken many screenshots of environments and settings to help get a better feel of the background I'm building and I've done a ton more researcher about historically accurate clothing using the in game info(KCD has a HUGE database of general medieval knowledge) and other resources.   
> 2\. When thinking of glass in a window, you might think flat, clear, and easy to see through. However, in the middle ages glass windows were not easy to make as everything had to be done using methods of glassblowing. Meaning, all pieces of glass made not only had a bubbled texture to them, but could only be made in small pieces which had to be put together. The historically accurate way of saying this would just be "... looking through glass" because all glass was warped to some degree! Uhh, this has nothing to do with the story... I just think its neat.  
> 3\. My two favorite things! Horses! Middle Ages! I'm going to be pretty brief because there are many people who know more about this subject and you are welcome to ask for references in the comments. Essentially horses were categorized by function, not body type.  
> Charger: A horse that is bred and trained to listen to know its own strength. These horses often listen to their "fight" rather than their "flight" instinct. Used for war and hunting, though a lesser version of both types. Think modern day police horse.  
> Destrier: A well trained, very expensive warhorse. A better and more specialized variant of the charger. These horses were strong and bigger than their counterparts, though not necessarily tall. Not a horse you'd want to stand behind, or in front of, on the battlefield.  
> Courser: Another type of charger. This horse was used in hunting and bred for endurance riding with small bursts of speed.   
> 4\. "Mandrake Mymmerkin": A phrase shamelessly taken from "From the Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy" which is essential a medieval rap battle between two Scottish men. I would highly suggest reading this. https://intranslation.brooklynrail.org/middle-scots/the-flyting-of-dunbar-and-kennedy/
> 
> For my fellow history buffs out there, please feel free to share your knowledge with the class!


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